Twisting Fate
by Capegio
Summary: When a bizarre tragedy shakes Narnia, the Pevensies must journey forth to set right what's gone wrong.
1. One

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. I just have trouble keeping my little typing fingers away from them.

**Author's Note: **This is a sequel to my other fic, _The Sea and the Siblings, _but only in the sense that I might reference some events from it and reuse a few OCs. You don't have to read it to understand this, in any case. I hope I can live up to the flattery you all bestowed upon me for it. And because I really hate it when author's notes go on forever, I have nothing more to say.

* * *

_**Twisting Fate**_

"It's only a small problem," said Peter, reaching across the table to snag a cluster of grapes from the fruit platter. "Just a few villagers complaining that there's a few unsavory characters lurking about. I can deal with it tonight and be back by morning."

Edmund scowled, using the back of his hand to wipe his running nose. Lucy dished a measure of potatoes onto his plate as he had yet to take any dinner for himself.

"Eat your dinner, Edmund," Susan told him.

"I'm not that sick, I can go with you," he said, ignoring her. Peter frowned.

"It's almost winter and it's getting chilly," he said. "You may not be that sick now, but if you ride out tonight, you will be. I know you usually come along on these little adventures, Ed, but I'm not risking your health for something I can deal with perfectly well on my own."

"But what if you can't?" protested Ed, sniffing loudly. Susan prodded his plate meaningfully and he shot her an exasperated look before stuffing some potato into his mouth. Taking advantage of this, Peter continued.

"I'll be taking some soldiers with me anyway," said Peter. "And even if none of them can use a sword like you, I should think between me and a half dozen centaurs we could handle a little disturbance."

Edmund swallowed his potato and glared.

"It's not a matter of being capable," he said. "It's a matter of having someone there to make sure you don't do anything spectacularly idiotic."

"Then I'll go," interjected Susan. Before either of her brothers could interrupt, she defended herself. "I'm a good archer, and I know my way with a light sword. I haven't been out of the castle in ages, Edmund is sick, and apparently we need someone to keep Peter from killing himself. So before either of you begin any speeches no doubt grounded in gender-based stereotypes, think about that."

Lucy chuckled as Peter shrugged and resumed his supper, while Edmund floundered for a good response. Lucy knew he hated being left behind, and suggesting that Susan go probably wasn't making him feel any better. But, she reflected, Peter was right; Edmund had been on the very cusp of illness for the past week or so, and a night out in the chill could be the deciding factor that pushed it into something more serious than congestion and a bad attitude. They finished their meal with talk about other things, and finally Peter rose from his seat and nodded to Susan.

"We'll leave in about twenty minutes," he said. Then, to Edmund and Lucy, "If you want to send us off, meet us down in the courtyard then."

"All right," said Lucy amiably. She stood, pulled Edmund to his feet, linked elbows with him and marched him out of the room before he could object to anything else. He scowled but allowed himself to be steered out into one of the castle's many hallways and down a ways, until she was sure Peter and Susan had escaped to the armory. Then she let go of her brother's arm, smiled brightly, and asked, "So what would you like to do tonight?"

"Oh, bother it all," he muttered tetchily. "Maybe I'll go look at some of that paperwork I've been ignoring."

"You do that," said Lucy.

"See you later, then," he said, and turned to walk off.

"Don't forget to say goodbye to Peter and Susan," she called after him.

"They're fully capable of leaving if I'm not there," he said, turned the corner, and was gone. Sighing, Lucy wondered vaguely what she would do with the twenty minutes she had, since Mr. Tumnus had left to tidy his home before the winter came and it became much harder to do so. She decided to see if the kitchen staff could use any help with the washing up. Heading off down the hallway, she made her way through several corridors and down several staircases before she was pulling open the doors to the great kitchens. Inside it was warm and welcoming, with the towering stone fireplaces housing only smoldering embers and about a dozen servants up to their elbows in suds and chatting merrily. At Lucy's entry, they looked over and quickly took to bowing and curtseying.

"What can we do for you, Your Majesty?" a female faun with rosy cheeks asked.

"I came to help with the dishes," she said. As usual, there was a flurry of "oh no, you really needn't"s and "really, we can handle it"s, and as usual, Lucy ignored them, deflected their protests and walked over to the sinks. She rolled up her sleeves and took to drying the sudsy dishes until the servants finally gave up fluttering about and went back to work with her among them. Fifteen minutes later and with the dishes almost completed, Lucy excused herself and left the room.

She dried her hands on her skirt as she walked. Out of habit, she used her thumbs to trace the two thin scars that ran across her palms. It had been more than a year since the incident with Zale in the fallen castle, and she still carried the marks from the magic-infused glass that had cut through her hands when she had destroyed the corrupting magic within the mirror. She thought they were ugly; her siblings told her they were a symbol of her courage and resource in that desperate time, and so she bore them willingly. The wounds had ceased to inhibit her movement in any case.

Lucy stopped by her chambers to don a cloak before heading out to the courtyard. It was nearing wintertime and certainly a bit nippy, so she selected a thick woolen one and wrapped it around her shoulders, then made her way down more stairs and out into the small courtyard on the south end of the castle from which she was sure her brother and sister would be departing. Sure enough, when she arrived they were already preparing to set off. Peter and Susan were seated upon two fine horses, the former with Rhindon strapped to his hip and the latter with her bow and arrow and a short sword. Both wore armor and royal Narnian regalia. Behind them were five powerfully-built centaurs, all equipped similarly, and they bowed when Lucy came running towards the group.

"Do be safe," she implored her family, reaching up to clasp arms with first her sister and then her brother. Peter smiled warmly and bent to ruffle her hair.

"Don't worry," he said. "We'll be back in the morning. Expect us just after sunrise or so."

"Where's Edmund?" asked Susan, sounding a little hurt. Lucy frowned.

"He said he was going to look at some paperwork," she said. "Maybe it was something important."

"Oh," said Susan, seeming nonplussed, but she brought her horse around to face the open gate anyway.

"Tell him goodbye from us then, I suppose," Peter told Lucy. She told him she would, kissed both her siblings goodbye, and then they had taken off at a gallop. She stood by the gate a little longer, enveloped by the growing darkness, until she could no longer see them along the cliffs and the gatekeepers closed the Cair for the night.

Sighing, Lucy turned and headed back into the castle.


	2. Two

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies, but I do own the DVD, so maybe in some small way I do. Please don't kill me just yet.

* * *

Lucy woke early the next morning, roused by a servant who she'd asked to do so. She wanted to be there to greet her siblings. And, she spontaneously decided, she would make sure Edmund did the same. She slipped out of bed still in her nightgown and ran the short distance to his chambers, her hair flying out behind her and her bare feet slapping against the cold stone. Making a mental note to put on slippers next time, she wrenched open the door and bounded over to his canopied bed while calling loudly for him to wake up. When she leapt atop the bulge in the covers she was sure was her brother, it gave a groan and slipped entirely underneath the bedding. 

"Come on, Ed, we're going to go and wait for Peter and Susan," she told the bed.

"Leamme alone," came the hoarse, muffled reply. She clambered off him and instead took to prodding the bump until she was rewarded with a stifled shriek of laughter. Then she proceeded to tickle Edmund mercilessly through the covers until he erupted from underneath them, hair in disarray and face set in fury that at first she thought was real.

"Lu!" he growled, reaching over to viciously muss her hair. She giggled and stood up, extending a hand to him.

"Come on, let's go!" she said eagerly. He rolled his eyes but obligingly rolled out of bed and stretched with a massive yawn.

"At least get dressed," he said, prodding her out the door.

Five minutes later, the two of them were standing by the open gate, shielding their eyes against the sunrise that was spilling over the sea to their left. It was a beautiful, still morning that vowed to become an even more gorgeous day; Lucy felt as if it was heralding something dramatic and gave a little shiver. She and Edmund climbed up onto the battlements so that they could see further down the path. A light breeze toyed with their hair, rippling Lucy's loose sleeves, and though the air was cold, the sun's rays offered a contrasting warmth that felt soothing upon her cheeks.

One minute became two, two minutes became three, three minutes became fifteen and half an hour later, they were still waiting. The sun had long since cleared the horizon.

"I do wish they'd hurry," said Lucy. "I'm getting rather hungry."

Edmund frowned, rubbing his arms to keep some semblance of warmth in them.

"And cold," he added. "Didn't they say they'd be back by now?"

"Yes."

Half an hour was not too much to be worried about, though, so they contented themselves to wait a little longer, playing games with words and being generally silly. The cold soon got to them, though, and even their laughter was muted in the oppressively still air. Most of the castle had yet to wake up. They were just about to give up and head inside when something appeared on the horizon, a faint speck that cast a long, westward shadow. Straightening on her perch, Lucy watched it carefully, fairly certain that it was the returning party, but a minute later it was still getting closer and it was not followed by any other figures. It was making slow progress and she was not patient. Leaping down off the ramparts, she scrambled down the stairway, closely followed by Edmund, and they sprinted out the gates and toward the nearing shape.

They realized who it was when they were about thirty feet away and increased their pace, the humor back in it as they raced one another towards their elder brother. As they grew closer, however, the laughter died on their lips. Something was wrong. Peter's horse was moving quite slowly, and it was limping; the High King sat in the saddle not straight-backed but slumped forward, as if he didn't have the strength to sit up. When they reached his side, Lucy had to swallow a gasp of shock and fear - his armor and tunic were crusted with vast amounts of blood, his helmet missing and his face marred by a long gash that ran from his temple to the corner of his lip. The blood there was still fresh and dripping down his face. His eyes, normally a bright, intense blue, were hazy with pain and a only few seconds after Lucy and Edmund had skidded to a stop beside his tired mount, he slid sideways and toppled from the saddle entirely. Edmund lurched forward, staggering under the weight of his older brother as he caught him on his shoulder. Lucy quickly helped him to maneuver Peter down onto the ground, feeling increasingly queasy as she saw more of his injuries.

"By the Lion," she breathed anxiously. The back of his armor was slashed straight through, the chain mail ripped like paper and his broad back showed several long, deep lacerations that oozed blood sickeningly. Edmund seemed beyond words. He looked up at Lucy helplessly, face pale and greenish, mouth opened slightly in horror. She knew what he was going to ask before he asked it, and took off towards the castle to fetch her cordial.

When she returned, Edmund had slipped his cloak underneath Peter's body in order to let him lay on his stomach. She was sure her eldest brother was unconscious, so she was immensely surprised when he stirred, hands twitching feebly towards the sword Edmund had removed from his belt, the lines of his face deepening into an expression of deepest pain. Swiftly she knelt by him, and the two youngest Pevensies again rolled their brother onto his side so that she could tip a single rosy drop from her vial into his parted lips. He swallowed, shuddered, and as they saw the gashes in his back begin to knit themselves back together, he curled into himself and did something they had not seen him do in more than a year – he cried.

Lucy reached out and put a hand on his armored shoulder. Something was horribly wrong. Peter didn't cry, Peter wasn't _allowed _to cry. And where was Susan…? With a sickening jolt, her mind connected these two thoughts. Edmund sat stiffly, jaw tight and eyes filled with anxiety. For a time they sat by their brother, uneasily watching his body shake with sobs, flinching at every broken cry that escaped his lips. By then, there were people moving in the courtyard behind them, but none had yet noticed the scene taking place outside the gates. When Peter finally quieted, Lucy turned to the younger of her brothers with a look of helpless questioning. Ed's face was entirely blank. At her glance, however, he nodded dumbly and shuffled over to kneel beside the High King.

"Let's get you inside," he whispered hoarsely. His voice was small and quavering. Lucy helped him hoist Peter upright and the three of them made their way back towards the castle, Ed fastening Rhindon to his own belt and bearing most of Peter's weight on his shoulder. The elder king was conscious, but though all that remained of his injuries were the bloodstains, he was limp and unresponsive, and his eyes drooped to an apathetic stare as he was borne inside.

A satyr noticed their approach when they neared the gate, and in a few seconds a throng of people had rushed out to surround the monarchs, inquiries buzzing in the air. Lucy sent them all away excepting one strong centaur over whose back they draped Peter's unmoving body. With their hands upon his shoulders to steady his journey, Lucy and Edmund followed the procession up to their brother's chambers, where he was gently deposited on his bed. Still he did not respond, seemingly awake but giving no indication that he noticed their presence. After a few long minutes of tense silence as they stood, watching over him, Lucy spoke.

"Peter?" she asked in a very small voice. His half-lidded eyes rolled over to look at her bleakly, then instantly darted back down. "Peter…what happened?"

He gave a great shudder and turned his face into the soft blankets. Edmund stood back, looking on with an expression of disbelieving shock as Lucy sat down on the bed beside their brother. Lucy had tried to avoid the question before, but it had to be asked. Feeling as though she could not sound more uncertain, she managed to whisper,

"Where's Susan?"

The silence alone was enough to give her an answer.

Her sister was dead.


	3. Three

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. And apparently Shauna owns this chapter.

* * *

It was an hour before Peter was ready to speak to them. They stayed in his chambers while he seemed to drift in and out of consciousness, his body healed but some deep emotional wound obviously bringing him agony beyond their comprehension. While Edmund paced, looking quite ill, Lucy sat in one of the cushioned arm chairs of the High King's chambers and tried to gather her fleeing thoughts and emotions. She would not, she _could not _crack. Not a Queen. Her mind attempted to replace 'a' with 'the' and she thought she would be sick.

When at last Peter dragged himself upright, arms shaking in the still-chilly midmorning air, the two younger Pevensies stopped their moving and turned to face him expectantly. He would not meet their eyes. A moment of frightened silence passed, then he let out a shuddering sigh and began to speak.

"We reached the Rush around dawn," he rasped, meaning the river that ran south of the Cair. His voice was horridly scratchy. "The reports were from the wood between there and Glasswater, so we…we headed in. There was no one there. Not even dryads. We searched for a sign for…probably…an hour, I don't know…"

Lucy summoned her courage and slid onto the bed beside him, reaching out an arm to place on his own but not touching him because he flinched away. Peter swallowed hard. Looking up at Edmund, who stood with his arms crossed and his fingers clenched in his cloak, Lucy bit her lip and wondered if she really _did _want to hear the rest of her brother's story, but he had already continued.

"Then they came," he said quietly. "It happened so fast, I didn't…I couldn't know what to do, it was just screaming and swords and blood and…" He broke down again. Lucy's stomach twisted painfully. She wanted so desperately to aid him somehow, to make it easier for him, but she didn't know what to do – she'd had practice comforting her other siblings, but Peter had never needed (or at least hadn't let them know he needed) it. She settled for a hand upon his elbow. He shied away from the touch.

"It was dark and I couldn't see. Then someone…knocked me, they knocked me off my horse and stuck me in the back while I was down," he managed, his body shaking with the effort of holding in his tears. Lucy saw the wrath rise between Edmund's eyes; to strike an opponent when he was down was unforgivable. "Then…she came." Something about the way he said 'she' made Lucy sure it was Susan Peter spoke of. He remained silent for a moment, his breathing ragged and his eyes shut.

"Yes?" Lucy prompted gently at last. His face screwed up in pained concentration.

"She pulled me to my feet, forced me back up on my horse…" he hissed. "I could…barely breathe. She…she slapped the horse, told it to run, I wanted it to stop but…couldn't move…then I looked back and…"

He couldn't go on and he didn't have to. Lucy felt a dull sense of finality sweep over her. All fourteen years of her life, lovingly shadowed by her elder sister, the gentle queen who was – no, had been – a mother to all of Narnia, suddenly darkened in the face of this wrong. She sat rigidly still, hands vaguely trembling on her brother's sheets, staring at the carpeted floor. Suddenly, there was a strangled noise from Ed and he took off, crashing towards the door and overturning a chair in the process. Running footsteps echoed in the hallway, and he was gone.

Casting a frantic glance at Peter, Lucy felt the intense need to follow the younger of her brothers, to tend to him, but the elder needed her too. Her own need for comfort suddenly seemed disproportionate. Susan was gone. Susan could not be the tender comforter now, so Lucy…Lucy would have to be something of her until…until when?

"Stay here," she told Peter. Not that she actually expected him to go anywhere, but it seemed the right thing to say. Everything seemed very distant suddenly. All that mattered was keeping her family together. She rose to her feet and fled the room, hurrying towards Ed's chambers, wrapping her cloak around herself as if protecting herself from the overwhelming grief that pressed on the little sphere of denial she'd encased herself in. She would have time for her own grief later. For now, she pushed the door to the younger of her two brother's chambers open and slipped inside, immediately locating him on the balcony outside, back shaking with sobs, fingers white upon the railing.

"Edmund," Lucy said quietly, moving beside him. He turned to her, and to her surprise he looked as angry as he did heartbroken. Moved to silence, she shrank back slightly in fear as he continued to cry, tears leaking from his wide eyes.

"This is all my fault," he choked out. "If I wasn't so _weak_…"

"Stop, Edmund," she interrupted. He ignored her.

"A cold, Lucy!" he half-shrieked. "If I had just…just argued harder, just pressed it, then…"

"_You _would be dead instead," she said.

"No," he whispered. "No, I could have…somehow, I would have…" But he couldn't finish. Lucy wrapped her arms around him, making soothing noises as he clutched her to him and sobbed as if the world was coming to an end. Perhaps it was. How had things changed so drastically? Only an hour earlier, hadn't she been waking to a glorious morning? Where was the sun's warmth? Why was there no relief from the burning hollow inside her?

"We should go," she said at last, when her brother's body had grown still against her own. "Peter needs us."

He nodded weakly, allowing her to pull him away from the railing and back into the room. Just before they left, she chanced a glance out of the window and for an instant, thought she caught a glimpse of something golden, something moving, down on the beach below. Brushing it off, she and Edmund walked the short distance back to their brother's room. He lay limply on the blankets, still in his torn, bloodstained armor. Edmund, looking sicker than he had the day before but for different reasons, went to sit on the bed beside him, fists clenched in the sheets.

"Peter," he said croakily. Lucy sat on his other side, pulling one of his calloused hands into both of her own.

" Susan is dead," Peter said dazedly. No one had anything to say to this. "I…I am supposed to…to protect…"

"You did everything you could," whispered Lucy.

"My responsibility…"

"Don't, Peter, please."

He closed his eyes and would say no more. When a minute passed, she stood and made her way slowly to the window, where she leaned upon the sill and looked out upon the beach. Just like the day before, the waves lapped upon the sand lethargically. Just like the day before, the feeble sun reflected across the water as the birds swooped, looking for their morning fish. Just like the day before, the trees by the shore were nearly bare of their leaves. Just like the day before, the air was crisp and cold, heralding the inevitable beginning of winter. But unlike the day before, she now faced a lifetime – _how long was a lifetime?_ – without her elder sister. Unlike the day before, the colors of outside were faded and dimmed. Only one thing seemed to hold any real color: the golden form of a great lion, striding steadily towards the castle, tail swishing, mane glittering…

"Aslan!" cried Lucy, startling her brothers. She turned on her heel and rushed from the room.


	4. Four

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. I just postponed my life because the words were coming.

* * *

It was a ten-minute walk to the beach, but it was no surprise to Lucy when she collided with the Lion only a few minutes later, in the small orchard by the east wall. She hurtled into his side, burying her face in his silky mane. And suddenly, it was as if the stopper had been pulled out of her sorrow; immense sobs wracked her body as she wept bitterly into Aslan's mane, clutching him to her as if he were the only consolation she could ever receive, the only thing that could possibly make this gaping wound inside her bearable. For several long minutes she simply stood pressed into his fur, savoring the warm softness that was the great Lion, her tears slipping off her face and into his mane.

"Aslan," she finally gasped out. "Oh, Aslan, it can't… Susan can't…"

"Peace, Dear One," he rumbled soothingly. She was pacified at the deep richness of his voice. "All will be made right."

She extracted herself from his mane, her face surely red from her crying. With a loud sniff, she stroked his fur and asked,

"But…but how?"

He looked at her, all somber gold eyes and dignity, and her inner turmoil swirled just a little slower.

"All will be made right," he repeated gently. He raised his massive head, inhaling the crisp late-autumn air, taking in the barren trees of the orchard around him. Lucy gave another sniff and tangled her fingers into his mane. He began to walk forward, the young queen with him, and soon they were striding through the courtyards. The court-dwellers would sink to their knees instantly at the sight of Narnia's highest king, and though Lucy would gladly have done the same, she had never felt the need around the great Lion. Together, they passed through the forecourts of the castle and began to climb one of the many staircases that she had so hurriedly descended in her haste to meet Aslan.

Though he had not said anything about where they were going, Lucy knew. When they neared Peter's chambers, she hurried ahead a few steps to push open the door for the Lion. He nodded in gratitude, then stepped into the room, seeming to brighten its dimness with his very presence. Lucy followed him in, slipping in the doorway and shutting the door behind her. She had not seen where her brothers had been before she'd come in, but now they were both kneeling before Aslan, heads bowed in humility; the only distinct difference between their poses was that Edmund's shoulders remained tense while Peter's sagged dejectedly.

"Rise, Sons of Adam," said Aslan. Both lifted their heads, but only Edmund stood, hands clasped behind his back. Lucy noted that Rhindon still hung from his belt. Aslan turned his wise gaze to the eldest of the children, something of a question in his noble bearing, and Edmund looked about to reach over and tap his brother on the shoulder, but settled for an imploring look. A moment of silence passed, and the Lion spoke again. "I bade you rise, Peter."

"Lord Aslan," Peter began, his voice still something of a croak. "I…I know why you have come."

Aslan gave him a long, hard look before asking with a touch of amusement,

"Do you, Son of Adam?" Peter nodded miserably.

"I have failed. I do not deserve to be High King or even a king at all. I have failed my family and I have failed Narnia. You have come justly to take away what is…"

"Enough," said Aslan. His countenance had changed; Lucy saw that now he looked stern and fearsome, bearing down upon her brother with a reprimanding stare. It was rare for her to see Peter so dwarfed but it certainly happened now. He looked positively tiny between the front paws of the great Lion. When Aslan spoke again, there was an imperious, hard edge to his deep voice. "Child, you despair too easily. There is a time for regret and a time for sorrow, but it is not now."

Peter bit his lip hard and bowed his head again.

"Forgive me, Aslan," he whispered. Lucy watched Aslan share a look with Edmund, give a quick nod, then Ed was moving to place a hand upon his brother's shoulder comfortingly. Peter kept his eyes on the carpet.

"What would you have us do?" asked Edmund levelly. Aslan swished his tail, considering the question for a moment.

"It is not often," he began, "that I lose a beloved son or daughter before my expectation. What happened last night was unforeseen, and if this mistake goes uncorrected, all of Narnia may be in grave danger."

_Corrected? _Lucy allowed herself the tiniest, most guarded measure of hope. Edmund had perked at the word, jaw tight and eyes just the tiniest bit wider than usual. Peter, gaze still fixed to the floor, had not reacted at all. Aslan continued.

"Your sister has passed on to another world," he said somberly. Lucy's flicker of hope was extinguished, but quickly relit as the Lion went on: "But as you know well, it is not in the least impossible to travel between worlds."

"Oh, Aslan," breathed Lucy. "Are you saying…oh, are you saying we could bring her back?"

"It will not be easy, Dear One," said the Lion. "What I ask of you is no simple task. It will test you beyond what you believe you can endure."

"We would endure anything for our sister," said Edmund. "More than anyone, I should understand the importance of keeping a family together. Tell us what we must do, Aslan."

Aslan shifted slightly, shuffling his paws and brushing his soft mane up against Lucy, who still stood to his side. She met eyes with the younger of her two brothers, and a silent recognition passed between them: both were ready to undertake any trial to rebuild their family. But suddenly Peter, who had not moved since Aslan had reprimanded him, raised his head and said much more steadily than before,

"I will go, Aslan. It is my duty to protect my family and my duty alone. Keeping Susan safe was my responsibility. I failed last night, but perhaps I can succeed in this mission. Do not make my brother and sister suffer for my mistake – I will go alone."

Edmund's hand quickly left Peter's shoulder. Aslan looked even less pleased than before. He narrowed his great golden eyes and lifted his head high above Peter's, regal and powerful and formidable.

"Pride, Son of Adam," he growled. "You mean well, but your pride blinds you to the strength of your family. Do not make the mistake of underestimating them. They are stronger than you think."

Peter set his jaw.

"Sodding git," Ed muttered.

Aslan chuckled.

"Lucy, Dear One," he purred, turning to her.

"Yes, Aslan?"

"Go to your brother's desk. Open the bottommost drawer and bring to me a small wooden box inside. Do not open it, just bring it to me."

Peter opened his mouth in confusion, perhaps to point out that there _was _no wooden box in the bottommost drawer of his desk, but a few seconds later Lucy had picked it up and laid it upon the bedside table before Aslan. He blinked in shock. Edmund rolled his eyes.

"Now, Daughter of Eve, open the box," said Aslan. She pulled off the carved top, made of a wood strangely like that of the wardrobe, and revealed inside a velvet-padded tray with four gleaming rings upon it, two yellow and two green. They were extraordinarily bright.

"Oh," Lucy breathed. She reached out to touch one, but drew her hand back at the sharp gaze she received from Edmund, the most naturally suspicious person in their family. He turned to the Lion.

"What are they for, Aslan?" he asked. The Lion closed his eyes, then opened them again.

"They will bring you between worlds as you search for your sister," he said. "I have…borrowed them from a certain troublemaker in your own world. Perhaps someday you will come to know his story. It is not for me to tell. But I will tell you this – the yellow rings, when touched, will take you to the Wood Between the Worlds. Once there, you must touch a green ring to leave. Be careful, my children, for anything you are touching while you travel will also travel with you. This will allow you to move together, but beware of things that would like to pass with you."

"Thank you, Aslan," said Lucy earnestly. He smiled at her, the kind of smile that is just from the eyes, and she smiled back.

"But where _is _ Susan?" asked Edmund suddenly. Aslan looked at him solemnly.

"Child, I tell no one any story but his own," he told the king. "It is your quest to find her and return her to her rightful throne. But always remember – no matter what world you are in, your sister is still your sister. Susan is still Susan. Good luck, Sons of Adam and Daughter of Eve. Narnia's future is in your hands now."

With nothing more than an inclination of his great head, the Lion was gone, the door closing gently behind him. Peter rose shakily from his knees, looking disconsolate.

"I can't do anything right," he said gloomily. Edmund gave an exasperated snort.

"Well here's your chance," he said. "You're resting a day, and then we're moving out. Lu, are you sure about this? If you don't want to go, just let us know and we can go on alone."

" Susan is my sister too," Lucy deflected. "We'll all go."

"I knew you'd say that," said Edmund with a smile. He took her by the hand and led them towards the door. Before they left, he turned to Peter and said, "We leave tomorrow morning, Peter, so don't waste today sulking. Rest up."

As she walked down the hallway, trailing behind her brother, Lucy recognized the little feeling that was kindling away inside her. Aslan had come and swept away her grief. In its place, she had found some hope. Tomorrow, she told herself, she set out to save a sister.


	5. Five

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. I just am obsessed enough with them to think first thing on Easter, "today Aslan came back and defeated the Witch."

* * *

And tomorrow did come. It came sunny and bright, though still not warm, with the few gulls that had remained for the winter swooping over the waters outside Lucy's window. She rose from her bed, having prepared herself for the journey the night before, feeling a little apprehensive but mostly feeling hopeful. Before, she had found it impossible to say to herself that Susan was dead. Now she realized she could think it and even say it out loud, but only because she could tack on the bit at the end about being able to do something about it. Yes, Susan was dead – but she could change that. Feeling rather empowered, Lucy crossed the room to her wardrobe and opened it.

Inside hung the usual array of dresses and gowns, but she ignored most of them and instead pulled out her favorite riding kirtle. It was light, comfortable, and most importantly it didn't rip as easily as everything else – she didn't know where she'd be going, so it was best to travel prepared. Shutting the closet door, Lucy walked over to the stiff-backed chair where she'd left the rest of her outfit. It had been quite a while since she'd put on armor, but she managed the buckles all right and cinched her belt around her waist. From it hung the gifts she'd received from Father Christmas, the little dagger that had helped her in many a tight spot and the cordial that had saved the life of her siblings and comrades more than a dozen times to date. Finally, she pulled her old traveling cloak from the back of the chair, folded it over her arm and left her chambers.

Edmund had prepared an address to their subjects, which she knew he would be giving before they left. Normally Peter would have handled such matters but since he'd returned, beaten and bloodied, Edmund seemed to have taken it upon himself to be the one in charge. Lucy thought this was probably a good thing; though her eldest brother had spent the previous day resting as instructed, he had only sunk deeper into his guilt-induced depression, his focus drifting and his shoulders slumped with the weight of his regrets. On the other hand, Edmund had perhaps taken on his duties a little _too _ferociously – he seemed to think that whatever mistakes he perceived he'd made before could be corrected if he drove himself to the brink of exhaustion by taking on all of Peter's responsibilities on top of his own. She'd had to force him to bed late the night before as he was still ferociously trying to write even more instructions for Oreius and Mr. Tumnus, who would be overseeing the country until their return.

This morning, she found she had little interest in breakfast, but decided she should eat some anyway. She stopped by the kitchens and took some honeyed porridge on the go, carrying it up to Peter's room before knocking and letting herself in. He was not asleep. She hadn't expected him to be. He sat on the edge of his bed, fully clothed and armored, elbows resting on his knees and hands face-up. Rhindon lay across both his palms, the pale morning sunlight reflecting off its polished blade, casting strange, troubled light patterns into his eyes.

"Peter?" Lucy said. He looked up slowly, expression not changing. Though he did not speak, she knew he was acknowledging her presence. She thought of what she'd intended on saying, but realized she didn't really have anything planned. She'd just wanted to see him to make sure he was all right. She offered the first thing that came to mind: "You should eat some breakfast."

He nodded mutely, rising and sheathing his sword with a metallic ring. He paused for a moment, waiting for her, and she headed out the door with him trailing behind. When they reached the kitchens she gave him a brief hug and wandered off towards the Great Hall, where she expected Edmund would soon be delivering his address. She wasn't wrong – a good deal of the court had assembled at his request, and when she entered the room he was already sitting on his throne, reading over the scroll he'd prepared one more time before he gave his speech. Like Lucy and Peter, he was dressed in traveler's armor, and had left his crown elsewhere. Lucy chose not to take her throne but instead stood behind the last row of courtiers, drawing as little attention to herself as possible. After a moment, Ed stood and cleared his throat.

"Citizens of Narnia," he began, and the noise died away. "I am certain you have heard many rumors regarding the disappearance of my sister, Queen Susan the Gentle. Sadly, these rumors are not ill-founded – our sister has indeed passed on from this world."

There was a sudden rush of whispering, horrified gasps and anxious mutterings. Edmund held up his hand and the babble faded.

"My siblings and I were much aggrieved at this news, but we were paid a visit by the Great Aslan, King above all kings in Narnia," said Edmund. "He has told us how we might change the way things are, how we might retrieve our sister from the place she has passed on to. I will not lie to you, good people. This is a dangerous quest. We cannot know how long we will be gone, but rest assured that while we are you are in good hands with Oreius, High General, and Mr. Tumnus, the Royal Steward. This very morning, I together with my sister Queen Lucy the Valiant and my brother High King Peter the Magnificent will embark on this expedition to bring back our sister Queen Susan the Gentle. I have nothing more to say. Thank you for your presence, good subjects, and a good morning to you all."

He stepped down off the dais that held the thrones to a smattering of applause. Lucy caught his eye from the back of the room and he strode over to her, sword and shield already bucked to his hip and back.

"Hey, Lu," he said, but despite the nickname and the informality of the greeting, he sounded very businesslike. "Are we ready?"

"If Peter is," she replied. She changed her course to head towards the kitchens and Ed followed, but Peter was not there. After a brief search they discovered him outside on the ramparts, eating a piece of fruit while staring south with a heavily-lidded gaze, not really seeing anything before him but gazing beyond the plains to something they could not see. They came up on either side of him, Lucy gently touching his arm.

"Are we leaving?" he asked hollowly. Edmund cracked his knuckles.

"Yes," he told Peter. Lucy thought he sounded the slightest bit irritated. They had planned to leave from Susan's chambers at Lucy's insistence. Her argument was that since they would probably be coming back to the same spot when they returned to Narnia with her, it would be lovely to arrive in her bedroom so she would feel quite at home. Peter had agreed with a sullen nod, while Ed had not really seemed to take much interest in the sentimentality of the request.

"Let's go, then," said Peter resignedly. He finished his fruit and led them down off the battlements and along the long walk to Susan's chambers. The courtiers and servants they crossed paths with all wished them the best on their journey, but Lucy found she was the only one responding with a smile and a thank you. Ed would only nod curtly. Peter didn't respond at all.

When at last they stood in a triangle on the carpeted floor of Susan's room, Peter fumbled with a pouch on his belt and withdrew all four rings with a gloved hand. They only worked when touching skin. He held his palm face-up, showing them the little glimmering circles, bright yellow and spring green.

"Since there's only two yellow rings, I won't be carrying one," said Peter disinterestedly. "In case of an emergency you two can use them to travel to this "Wood Between the Worlds." And you'll carry the greens, too, because there's no point in having the green if you don't have the yellow."

"But what happens if we're separated from you?" asked Lucy concernedly. "We can't just leave you behind."

Peter shrugged.

"Doesn't matter."

"Will you stop that?" asked Edmund crankily. Peter looked at him in mild surprise. "Stop moping. For the love of Aslan, you've been a right fountain of misery all day."

Peter shrugged and didn't respond, but placed a yellow and a green ring in Lucy's upturned hands and grabbed Ed's wrist before he could protest. He pushed the other rings into his younger brother's grasp and straightened out.

"Keep them safe. Use your pockets or your belt satchels. And be careful you don't touch the ring when you don't mean to," he told them flatly. Lucy dropped both rings into the pouch on her belt, next to her cordial. She removed her gloves and tucked them into the rations pack she carried, while Edmund did the same after a moment of angry hesitation. Then they stood in a circle. She slipped her hand into Peter's so that he would travel with them.

"On three?" Lucy asked somewhat nervously. Her brothers nodded.

"One…two…three!"

She plunged her hand into the pouch, felt cool, humming metal beneath her fingertips, and then Cair Paravel was fading around them.


	6. Six

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. And I'm sorry - I've been fighting a bit of depression and a whole lot of writer's block on this. Thank you to Shauna, without whom I don't think I'd ever be able to write anything anymore.

* * *

The first thing she noticed was that while she was certainly not in the castle anymore, neither was she in the wood Aslan had spoken of. There was a soft green light from above, and she felt strange, like she wasn't connected to anything at all; she could vaguely sense other forms beside her but that thought didn't matter as she seemed to rise towards the light until her head broke the surface of something that she suddenly realized might have been water. It would certainly explain the lack of contact with anything solid.

Hauling herself onto the bank of the little pool she'd emerged from, she was a little surprised to see she wasn't wet. She shifted to make room for Edmund, who was the first to get to his feet, and he extended his hand to her. She took it, allowing him to lever her off the grassy ground. Peter rose a second later and the three of them stood, taking in their surroundings.

It was a wood, as Aslan had said. In fact, it was so dense that Lucy could not see the sky above her. But the sun must have been out, because a bright, pleasant light had managed to penetrate the thick foliage overhead, drenching the entire area in a rather sleepy sense of peacefulness. This serenity was actually the most distinctive quality of the forest – it was so peaceful, so devoid of movement, that it was almost eerie. No wind disturbed the leaves, no little creatures ruffled the grass, no birds perched in the lofty branches of the trees around them. It was as if the entire place were frozen in time.

"Well," said Peter, breaking the silence. "Aslan said we use the green rings to move to another world – I would assume the other pools would be the entrances to the other worlds, if the one we just came out of was from Narnia."

Lucy nodded, and the two of them moved towards a different pool before Edmund gave a polite cough from behind them. They turned back to find him with his arms crossed, one eyebrow arched.

"Don't you think we ought to make sure we know how to get back?" he pointed out. Peter flushed.

"Yes, I suppose so," he muttered distractedly. He reached into his belt pouch and withdrew something relatively small, a little gold medallion carved to resemble a lion's head. She recalled that it had been a gift from the Northern Dwarves after the Battle of Beruna, a coronation present in honor of his courage, and that he always brought it with him on campaign, rather like a good luck charm. But now, he reached down to the base of one of the trees by the pool's edge and picked up a fallen twig, sticking it into the earth by the spring and hanging the medallion upon it. It glinted in the sun, marking the pool well. Peter straightened and turned back to his siblings, who nodded, and the three of them looked around at the other pools.

"Pick one," said Edmund to Lucy. She hesitated a moment before pointing to the nearest pool, which was about eight feet across, and (like all the others) quite still, though it seemed darker than most of the others. The three of them stepped forward, and the younger two trade the yellow rings for the green, which they slipped on. Again, Lucy took Peter's hand, and again they looked around at each other with a bit of uncertainty, before shrugging and taking a step into the other pool.

Traveling away from the Wood Between the Worlds was not quite the same as traveling to it. This time, there was no green light, no pool to break the surface of, but the feeling of disconnectedness stayed, like she wasn't standing or lying or sitting on anything. The cosmos flashed by her eyes, a sight so breathtaking that even Narnia seemed to pale in comparison. And then there was a different view, a dark sky, forked, lightning, torrential rain…

…and then she was in it. With a yelp of unhappy surprise, Lucy found herself and her brothers in the midst of a thunderstorm, being pounded by freezing rain, the air bearing a chill that seeped straight through their armor and clothes and brought their arms to numbness. They drew their cloaks up immediately, finding that it didn't do much to ease the wetness, but at least it helped the cold ever-so-slightly. It was obviously nighttime though the moon was covered by the storm clouds.

They stood in a sort of low valley, surrounded by harsh slopes on any side. However, at the top of one there loomed a small, turreted castle with ragged banners that flapped frenziedly in the fierce wind. Light spilled from its windows onto the ground beneath.

"Any port in a storm," said Peter, shrugging.

"That's supposed to be a metaphor," muttered Edmund, but he was the first to start up the steep hill, wrapping his arms around himself and rubbing them in an attempt to stay warm. The Wood Between the Worlds had been at that perfect point between hot and cool where a person could just fall asleep, but this entire world seemed haunted by a strange chill.

"You don't suppose Susan is here, do you?" asked Lucy as she followed them. She received two one-shouldered shrugs in response.

"We'll never know if we don't look," said Edmund. They continued on through the hammering rain, rapidly becoming drenched and frigid and miserable. How, in the space of five minutes, did things change so much?

"But how will we know?" pressed Lucy. "There are thousands of pools. It could take years to search a whole world. We're not going to live for thousands of years."

"We know, Lucy," said Peter tiredly. "Just…we'll find her sooner than that. Somehow."

They struggled up the slope for another ten minutes, battered by the elements, until finally they were standing in front of the towering stone and wood gates of the castle. It seemed strangely sinister and threatening up close, like it was waiting to swallow them up. But it was as good a place as any to start looking, so Edmund stepped forward, cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered,

"Open up!"

The sound was swallowed by the storm, and Peter cast a disapproving glance over at his brother's choice of words, but a second later the gates creaked and slowly inched their way open a crack – just enough for them to pass one by one. The Pevensies shared yet another look before Peter strode forward, his hand inching to his sword. Lucy noted with some bemusement that her brothers had not had to say anything to let each other know what order they would go in; Edmund had simply prodded her forward so that they could stand both in front and behind her, forming a protective barricade.

They made it through the gates with little trouble, and the instant they were through, the giant wooden doors thudded softly shut again, a reaction so immediate that the gate almost clipped Edmund's heel. There was no sign of any person anywhere until a tall, obscenely thin man limped his way towards them. It was too dark to tell where he had come from. As he approached, Lucy made out that though he seemed quite tall, he was hunched over a bit – if he hadn't been, he would have towered far above even Peter. Despite the storm and the cold, he wore only a black tunic and leggings, and he carried a lantern in his gnarled old hand. Wiry stark-white hair crusted the parts of his head that were not entirely bald. Finally, he came to stand before them, eyeing them suspiciously as he stroked the stubble on his chin with a bony finger.

"Well," he wheezed finally. Lucy edged closer to her brothers on instinct. "Your rooms are ready."

If this surprised anyone but Lucy, they certainly did a good job of covering it up. Peter and Edmund shared a look, then each reached down and took one of her hands. Ordinarily she would have protested such coddling, but at the moment it was rather reassuring to have a good grip on something so familiar when everything else was so foreign and spooky. Eager to get out of the rain, she nodded, and as the old man jerkily swiveled to lead the way into the castle, they followed at a distance.

What they would find inside was anyone's guess.


	7. Seven

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. So don't sue me - I hate Sues. Especially Sues in Narnia fics. Out of my fandom, shoo shoo!

* * *

It is difficult to be ungrateful for any sort of shelter when you are in a storm such as the one the Pevensies had been in, but Lucy thought the weather had at least felt more welcoming. The icy stares of the withered people who stood in the hallways as they passed were more chilling than the damp cold of the outdoors. They followed their guide through the stone castle, heading for some unknown destination – their rooms? – and taking stock of their surroundings.

Lucy mostly paid attention to the people, knowing that her brothers would notice the layout of the place and the weaponry the castle folk possessed. There were both men and women looking out at them, but they all bore the same skeletal appearance the first man had. Their sunken eyes followed the siblings eerily. Some of them were so emaciated, they seemed to be nothing more than skin wrapped tightly around bones, and they moved jerkily, as if they had been sitting for quite a long time and had only just risen. Lucy could see no children.

However, the real creepiness of the place had a lot to do with its sounds, actually, or its lack of it. The castle seemed unnaturally quiet. There was only the shuffle of booted feet and the rustle of clothing, with the far-off hints at kitchen work and other chores. The people did not speak to one another. They merely stood in doorways, watching the strange, noisy foreigners pass by in silence, stiff and staring and spooky. Shivering, Lucy let go of her brothers' hands to rub at her arms uncomfortably; as a queen, of course she had endured the staring of her subjects or of foreign dignitaries, but it was not often she was looked at in a way that made her feel so threatened, so violated. It was as if the skeletal people were merely appraising her and her family, trying to determine how much they would be worth at the market.

Trailing behind their strange guide, Lucy, Edmund and Peter were led through a series of winding passageways, up two flights of spiral stairs, and to the end of a very dank corridor. There were two heavy, plain wooden doors set into the wall, looking as though they might grow moss at any moment. The thin man stepped back and eyed them again, claw-like fingers raking across his spiky, stubbly cheeks. He gestured to the doors, but did not speak until suddenly his eyes settled on Lucy's hand. They grew wide with some sort of perverse curiosity, and she immediately drew it back as if the man's gaze had burned it.

"What is that?" he rasped. Lucy looked down and realized with a start that she had not removed her ring. It shone a brilliant green even in the dim torch-bracket light of the hallway. And the man was reaching forward eagerly, chapped lips slightly parted in anticipation, but she had no desire to let him get a hold on it, so she quickly removed it and dropped it into her belt pouch.

"It's nothing," she said quickly. She felt Peter and Edmund relax behind her, though she hadn't felt them tense before. The man's face returned to a mash of shadows and harsh lines, more fierce than before. Without another word, he gestured towards the doors. The Pevensies shared a look, and Lucy managed a tight 'thank you' before the man was limping away, muttering something under his breath as he went.

The rooms were identical, obviously guest chambers. They were very stark. They contained a large bed, a stone fireplace, a wooden table, and one straight-backed chair. Outside, the storm still raged furiously, but only a few drops made it past the stone overhang outside the glassless windows. It was extremely cold. It was also nighttime, and Lucy realized they were expected to sleep; the people of the castle had no doubt thought them weary travelers looking for a place to stay the night, not people who had risen scarcely an hour before.

"Where do we begin?" she asked, seated on the end of the bed. Peter, who was leaning against the wall, shrugged. Edmund's eyes flashed in slight irritation before he answered Lucy's question.

"Now we find out if they've seen Susan," he told her. "Or just anyone new, since obviously she can't have been here all that long."

"But isn't time distorted between worlds?" she said. " Susan could have been here for ages and we'd never know."

"But Aslan said that Susan would still be Susan, and we're assuming that means she'll still be how she was when…" Edmund didn't seem to want to finish what he was saying, as Peter had slumped even further. He shot his brother an exasperated glance.

"I guess," Lucy said reluctantly.

They made their way back out into the castle, unsure of how to return to the place from which they'd come. The air was damp and cold. Meandering through the stone hallways, they encountered no people, but Lucy constantly felt as though she was being watched, and if her brothers' tension was anything to go by, so did they. She didn't think she'd ever seen a less welcoming place. At last, they found what seemed to be a servant girl, her hair lank and grey, her limbs so stick-like that even Lucy could have circled a wrist with her thumb and index finger.

"Excuse me," said Lucy politely. The girl looked up through sunken, dead eyes, but the little queen did not flinch away. "We're looking for our sister. Has a young woman passed through this place?"

The girl turned back to her work, folding a ragged blanket over her arm, and said in a rough, airy voice,

"You must ask the King."

And she extended a long, grotesquely thin arm and pointed down the corridor, to where it met another and more people would occasionally pass. The three Narnians nodded their thanks and found that the reason more people were passing through the area was because it led to what was obviously the throne room. They stepped into it, the largest room they'd encountered so far, and noticed immediately the tall, narrow throne that stood at the head of it – the man sitting in it was conspicuous as well.

If the other people had been skeletal, this man _was _a skeleton. The hands that protruded from the billowing robes that enveloped him were long-fingered, and Lucy guessed that if she stepped closer than the twenty feet that separated them, she would be able to see every knuckle structure. His face was a repulsive image of protruding cheek and jaw bones, his eyes sunken so deep into his face that they were entirely shadowed. He was bald, but his scalp did not shine; it was mottled with sickly colors that would befit a person of extreme age. A jagged crown of some smooth white substance rested atop his head. It was difficult for her to look at him without wanting to retch.

But he was a king, and kings must be shown respect regardless of their appearances. Lucy began to make a curtsy (difficult in her light armor), but Edmund's hand suddenly gripped her shoulder, preventing her from doing so. She looked up at him in confusion.

"You're a queen," he reminded her. "You assume equal rank and command equal respect."

And because Peter made no move to step forward and introduce them, Edmund did so. Lucy watched him take a few strides towards the foreign king before nodding his head respectfully and dropping his hand away from his sword, a sign that he wanted no conflict.

"Unknown king," he called. The sound echoed in the near-silence. "Who do I have the honor of addressing?"

The man did not seem to move, but Lucy sensed that he was watching them. One of the gaunt guards next to the throne paced forward until he was not more than two yards from Edmund.

"Why do you not bow?" he boomed, his voice harsh and crackling. Edmund did not move from his place just in front of his brother and sister.

"We are kings and queens of a foreign country. No disrespect is meant," he replied evenly. The guard laughed gratingly.

"Kings and Queens?" he said mockingly. "The eldest of you is naught more than an overgrown boy."

Lucy waited for Peter to stiffen, to defend his pride, but he did not move from his place, only looked at the floor with his face in an expression of pained acceptance. In contrast, Edmund's shoulders shot up and his fiery temper sparked yet again. Though Lucy could not see his eyes, she was sure they had lit with anger.

"Do not mock us," he demanded. "We are not here to argue experience. What sort of man are you, to insult my brother so?"

Suddenly the figure on the throne stirred. A creaking, groaning laugh echoed around the area as he lurched to his feet and leered down at him from the dais, his crown glinting in the torchlight.

"Oh, but we are not men," he hissed in a voice that sounded like but half a voice. "No one is a man after he has died."


	8. Eight

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. They own me. Really, really sorry for the pace this is going at. I'll try to go quicker in the future. Slap me if it takes too long next time.

* * *

There was a bit of a blank silence in which Lucy's mouth dropped open a little, Edmund blinked and Peter stared unresponsively at the floor. Quick to recover, Edmund raised one eyebrow and remarked,

"You're looking very well for a dead man."

A hissing, squeaking laugh made its way out from the king's lips, but Lucy didn't hear any joy in it. He seemed to (accurately) suspect that Edmund was mocking him. Lucy, worried that Edmund would offend their hosts and well aware that there were about ten times as many palace guards as there were Pevensies, silently willed her short-tempered brother to think about what he was saying before he put them all in danger. But she needn't have fretted; a minute later he was back to the almost worryingly businesslike attitude he'd held for the past few days.

"Your Highness," said Edmund respectfully. "We are weary travelers; whether or not you believe us royalty it matters little. Thank you for your hospitality thus far. We come in search of our sister, and would like to ask you if she has passed through your realm."

The king stared at them for a minute (or at least, Lucy thought he stared, but his eyes were so shadowed that she couldn't be sure), then spoke again. His voice made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

"Where have you come from?" he wheezed.

"We have traveled quite far," said Edmund curtly.

"How did you come here?"

There was a pause, and Lucy stiffened. She could tell exactly what Edmund was thinking because it was the same thing she was thinking – both were remembering the hungry look on the face of the first man they'd encountered when he'd seen her ring. It was a secret she was loathe to part with. Edmund's eyes darted to her, then to Peter, then back to the strange king before he set his face again and said in an unreadable voice,

"We have journeyed on foot."

"Liar!"

This voice was different – though it was still raspy and weak, it seemed to come from very many places at once, as if the very stones of the room refused to believe him. The dead king had pointed a repulsively long arm at them, claw-like fingernails extended in clear accusation. Lucy saw her brother flinch slightly, though he did not step back, and even Peter looked up in mild surprise. She herself had jumped at the sudden, strange noise. Edmund faltered for words.

"We…ah…apologies, Your Majesty," he said at last, inclining his head. "The truth is…quite complicated. We do not wish to bore you with the details of our journey; all we desire is to find our sister."

The king leered across the room at them, managing to seem as if he were looking down on them even though he was too far away to really do so.

"It will not bore me," he reassured them in a cold, rasping voice.

Edmund looked back at Lucy and Peter uncertainly. To Lucy's slight relief, Peter stepped forward and took a stand next to his younger brother, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"My brother did not lie when he said we have traveled far," he said quietly, but firmly. "We come from another world, a country called Narnia. We have come to this world through use of a special magic."

"Go on," said the king, taking a seat and folding his skeletal fingers. Peter hesitated, so the dead man supplied, "How would you use this magic?"

Edmund and Lucy watched Peter, nervously anticipant.

"We…" the High King began, then stopped. He sighed.

"I will know if you lie."

There was a silence.

"Rings," said Peter at last.

"And these rings," said the king interestedly. He leaned forward and the dim light reflected off his crown, which Lucy suddenly realized was made of bone. "Will they allow you out of this world as well?"

"Yes," said Edmund. He and Peter shared a look.

"But our sister," said Lucy, speaking up for the first time. Everyone in the room turned their focus to her. "Please, sir. Have you seen her?"

The king leaned back in his throne, his face again cast into shadow. He spread his nauseating hands wide in an expansive gesture.

"Many pass through my realm," he grated. "I would not know of her. You have my leave to search anywhere in this castle."

And the guards stepped in front of him, crossing their spears to show that the meeting was over. Peter and Edmund turned back to Lucy, all three sharing a worried glance before they made their way out of the throne room and back into the hallway. The doors slammed shut behind them. The grotesquely skinny people of the castle drifted past the closed doorway like a stream, flowing around the Pevensies as if they were bothersome rocks dropped into the current. Quickly, they wandered back to a less busy corridor and formed a triangle to confer.

"So what do we do? Just randomly look?" asked Edmund, leaning against the wall and folding his arms over his chest.

"Do we have a choice?" muttered Peter sullenly.

"Let's just do it," said Lucy earnestly. She looked up at her brothers. "Look for a little while and then if we can't find her, we'll just…I don't know. Go from there?"

"Sure," said Edmund, sighing. "Wonderful. And we can have Sir Zombie breathing down our necks, waiting to pick our pockets while we're at it, how's that?"

"Have you got a better idea?" said Peter. Edmund didn't reply.

"Right," said Lucy. "So…shall we go?"

"I'll take left if you'll take right," muttered Edmund. Peter looked doubtful.

"I don't know about splitting up…" he said reluctantly. "We don't know what these people want from us."

"All they want is our fresh, living flesh," said Edmund darkly. "What could we possibly have to worry about?"

"We'll be okay. If anything goes wrong, we'll scream," said Lucy reassuringly. Peter did not look comforted, but he seemed unwilling to start an argument over the issue, so they settled on their territories – Peter would search the stables and courtyards, Edmund would search the cellars and the kitchens, and Lucy would search around the bedchambers. Lucy bid her brothers good luck, though she was feeling less than optimistic, and set off down the hallway.

The scream didn't come for another half hour.


	9. Nine

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies, but Shauna owns my soul so here, have a chapter. Hurrah, a little bit of my old speed is back...

* * *

Actually, it wasn't so much a scream as it was a shout, but it certainly caught Lucy's attention. Unfortunately, as quickly as it had shattered the silence she had previously inhabited, it ended, leaving her with little clue as to its origins; she was sure it had come from somewhere below her, but the castle was too large for such a vague direction to be much help. Her first thought was for Edmund, who she knew to be somewhere around there. Her second thought was for Peter, who (if he had heard the noise) would be dashing stupidly into whatever peril his younger brother had gotten himself into.

Whirling around, one hand on her dagger, she hurried into the hallway from the bedroom she'd been searching and took off towards the stairwell. She encountered no resistance from the few castle people that she passed. Most of them just shifted to one side as she hurtled past them, face white with fear, booted feet pounding on the stone floor. The stairs she took two at a time, nearly missing the last one and colliding with a grotesque old woman whose skin, when she brushed against, felt like ice. Then with a hasty apology she was flying out into the lower corridor that led to the cellar, eyes darting to and fro, looking desperately for any sign of either brother.

Peter she found first as he came bounding around the corner a few minutes later, soaked to the bone from his outdoor search. His eyes found her instantly and she was swiftly crushed in a tight, relieved (but quite wet) hug before his face again twisted in worry and without a word they both raced towards the cellars. They burst through the doors a moment later and plunged into the damp, cool belly of the castle, which smelled deeply of wine and rot.

"Ed!" Lucy called worriedly, as if repeating it for the hundredth time would somehow change the answer. It didn't.

"Edmund!" yelled Peter hoarsely. The sound seemed to be swallowed by the towering barrels that lined the narrow pathways they were forced to traverse. He had his sword out though not a soul could be seen. His still-dripping face was pale, his recently dulled blue eyes lit with panic as he and Lucy tried to grow accustomed to the gloom. For ten frantic minutes they stumbled around the dark room, searching, until at last Lucy caught sight of a dark shape slumped against a wall, hastily wedged between some of the barrels.

"Oh, Ed," she breathed, dropping to her knees and pulling his limp body into her lap. Peter had appeared at her side within an instant, and even in the bad light she could see how scared he was.

Suddenly, the younger of her two brothers gave a small groan and shifted in her arms. It was hard to make out his injuries, but Lucy didn't feel any broken bones, so she tolerated his attempts to move.

"Ed, what happened?" Peter asked, his voice tight. Edmund let out a very un-Eddish whimper.

"Peter," said Lucy. "We ought to get out of this bad air, it's awfully damp in here and…"

"I know," he interrupted. He reached over her and pulled Edmund into his own lap, then picked the smaller boy up and staggered to his feet. Lucy followed suit. Edmund's head had lolled onto Peter's shoulder, something which she knew he would never let happen if he were fully conscious. It worried her, but she didn't have time to worry about that at the moment; they obviously had enemies somewhere in the castle and the sooner they got away from them the better. But just as Peter set off towards the crack of light that filtered in from the doorway, Lucy caught sight of something glinting dimly on the floor. It was a green ring. She picked it up and tucked it into her own pocket but couldn't help but wonder where the yellow was…

The corridor outside the cellars was thankfully deserted. But, knowing that the rest of the castle wouldn't be, the minute they reached the stairway to the main levels, Peter and Lucy doubled their speed, taking the steps two at a time and hurrying towards the chambers they'd been shown to before. The further they got, the more restless Edmund became, squirming in his brother's strong but trembling arms as he was borne to safety, head tossing from side to side, noises of protest escaping his slightly-parted lips. It was only when they slowed down to turn into the final hallway that Lucy caught sight of several dark marks upon his throat, but she didn't have time to ponder what they might be or how they might have gotten there because she was pushing the door open for Peter and standing aside.

The instant they were inside, Lucy slammed the door shut and looked around for something with which to bar it. Peter hurriedly laid his brother down upon the one bed, stepped over to the wall and took a grip on the long, metal rod that held up a drab tapestry. Lucy, her back to the door as if the skeletal people would barge in any minute, watched the muscles in his arms stand out like cords as he gritted his teeth and, with one final grunt of effort, wrenched it from its bolted place in the stone wall. He passed it to her and she slid it through the door handle, effectively barring the door. Both panting, they turned to Edmund, on his back on the bed.

He had obviously been jumped too quickly for him to make use of his sword; it still rested in its sheath. His armor had probably prevented most of the worst blows. But his neck and head, which had had no protection, were a mess of blacks and blues, his lip split and bleeding, and a shallow cut behind his left ear. Lucy quickly took a look at the marks she'd caught a glimpse of before, the ones on his neck. To her horror, they appeared to be finger-shaped bruises, but left by very thin, bony fingers, as if one of the castle people had attempted to strangle her brother, and she couldn't stop the images that leaked into her protesting mind, of Edmund fighting for his life in that damp, dark prison of a room, all alone.

Peter had brought over the basin of water that most castles provided guests with so that they might freshen themselves. Swallowing, Lucy pulled her handkerchief from the satchel she'd left in the room earlier and dipped in the water, sliding onto the bed beside Edmund and leaning across him to gently wipe away the blood that had dried on his chin. His features contorted slightly at the cool touch.

"It's all right, Edmund," she soothed. "Just lie back, we're here."

"Lu," he murmured in recognition. He seemed just on the edge of awareness, tottering somewhere between awaking and unconsciousness. She made a noise of reassurance and continued to carefully tend to his wounds. But his lips moved again suddenly, though no sound came out. She desisted in her ministrations for a moment to let him try again, and when he did, it was a hoarse whisper of, "Ring."

Feeling incredibly apprehensive, Lucy drew one glove from her belt and reached into Edmund's belt pouch with it upon her hand. And just as she had expected, it was empty. The yellow ring was gone.


	10. Ten

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. But I do allude to them in practically every conversation I have.

* * *

Casting a worried look to their side, she suddenly realized that where she'd expected Peter to be hovering about, looking like a well-meaning rhinoceros in a pottery shop, he was instead sitting in one of the rather uncomfortable-looking chairs by the unlit fire, his head in his hands and his body drooping woefully.

"Peter?" she questioned. When she looked down she nearly jumped in surprise; Edmund had opened his eyes and rather than looking like someone who had just been beaten into unconsciousness, was looking ready to kick something.

"Pe…" he rasped, coughed, seemed to need to rest a second. Behind the hoarseness there was a powerful irritation.

"I'm so sorry," said Peter hollowly. "So, so sorry. I should never have brought you here. I should have gone alone. If I hadn't…"

"Shut up!" Edmund ground out, struggling to sit up. Lucy, nervously looking between her two brothers, tried to get Ed to lie still, but he slapped her hands away and used the headboard to push himself half-upright. She scrambled frantically to stop him from getting off the bed but it was too late; he slid off and staggered towards his older brother, wincing at his own pain but with his teeth clenched in thin fury as the High King continued.

"I'm so pathetic," said Peter. He faced away from them, his head still in his hands. "I'm supposed to protect a country and I couldn't even protect you and Susan. They ought to take me off the throne and crown someone who…"

Before Peter could finish his sentence, Edmund's fist, hampered by Lucy's desperate attempts to stop him, connected soundly with the side of the elder king's face. Caught by surprise, he was slammed up against the back of the chair, his hand automatically flying to his jaw, blue eyes open wide in astonishment, mouth gaping.

"You…!" he stammered angrily. Edmund's own eyes burned with rage and disappointment.

"No, _not _me!" he shouted, fists clenched at his side as Lucy hovered anxiously between them. "Not me. You, Peter! You're the one that convinced yourself you're pathetic or useless or guilty in all this!"

"You don't understand, Ed," choked Peter. "I…"

"You, you, you! It's always about you, isn't it? Everything is always your fault, like you somehow cause everything to happen. You're so modest, you've become an arrogant prig while my back was turned. Where are you, Peter? Why can't you…"

"You don't know what it's like!" Peter interrupted, standing up so that he was looking down at his brother. Lucy shrank back in fear. His face was contorted with sorrow and guilt and anger, unshed tears glinting at the corner of his eyes. "You didn't have to see her _die!_"

"I look up to you, Peter!" said Edmund vehemently. He did not flinch away from the elder king's intense stare but was drawing nearer to tears himself, his frustration boiling to the surface. Lucy bit her nails. "I look up to you to keep leading us no matter what happens! I look up to you to not just lie back and let things happen, but do what you can to fix and help and just…just to keep going, Peter! Why can't you do that anymore? Why can't you be the one I look up to anymore?"

"I…" Peter stammered. He shook his head as if to clear it. Lucy felt her own sorrow and fear welling up within her, tears stinging at her dry eyes. If there was anything they needed now, it wasn't this. "I…I can't, Ed, just…"

"There is no can't, Peter," said Edmund bitterly. "Not for you."

"Well that's easy for you to say, isn't it?" Peter suddenly flared up. "You can just…"

But Lucy had had enough. Turning on her heel, she flew to the door with a small sob, wrenched the tapestry pole from the handle and darted out into the hallway. She didn't know where to go, only that she had to get away from the oppressiveness she had left behind. It had been a long time since her brothers had fought like this – perhaps even since they'd first come to Narnia, but whatever the case, she couldn't handle it, not on top of everything that had happened within the past few days.

She ran until her breathing grew labored and her legs felt as if they were on fire. Gasping and sobbing, she leaned up against a wall that looked entirely foreign, uncertain how many staircases she had passed, uncertain even if someone had followed her or where she was in the castle. It appeared to be a hallway of some sort, and when she glanced out a window she saw not only that the storm had stopped but that she was quite high up. And suddenly, when the worst of her exhaustion and despair had passed, she realized that perhaps it wasn't quite such a good idea to be in some unknown part of the castle with no idea how to return to her brothers.

She swallowed hard, panic rising up in her stomach. It was then that the first of the castle people slipped up behind her, one frigid, bony hand wrapping its grotesquely long fingers around her wrist. The woman had crept up behind her silently and for one instant Lucy almost felt like it would be wrong to scream, but she found her voice in an instant and did so. Jerking her hand away from the cold grasp of her attacker, she made a move for one of the doors, hoping to be able to take refuge there, but it opened before she could reach it and several more skeletal people poured out, leering at her and advancing.

"Help!" she cried out.

She drew her dagger with a short ringing sound, holding it before her threateningly but forced to revolve constantly as to face the dozen or so assailants that had surrounded her in the narrow corridor. Her hands trembled. A man staggered forward with his arms outstretched, the skin upon his them stretched revoltingly. Ordinarily she would have been hesitant about using her weapon, but these people seemed so inherently inhuman and hostile, she immediately slashed out and drew a long gash from his elbow to his wrist. The skin flapped open – no blood. Lucy retched.

"Help!" she screamed again as more closed in around her. The castle people were all around her, smothering her, pushing her down to the floor, their claw-like hands scrabbling at her arms and legs as they sought to take the dagger from her blurred hand, lashing out at them. She could no longer see anything but horrifying faces looming above her. Even the light seemed to be blocked out.

Suddenly there was another sound from outside the mob, the pronounced, metallic unsheathing of a sword and a familiar voice.

"Lu!" Peter shouted urgently. There was a collective hiss from her attackers as the ones at the edge of the mob were smashed to one side, Rhindon slicing straight through their bodies and hewing their torsos from their legs. Lucy swallowed her tears and began to struggle again, kicking and flailing against the dead people that were now attempting to drag her down the hallway. She could hear her brother still struggling to reach her, and suddenly, there was a gap in the leering faces, light pouring in, revealing Peter's battle-lit eyes as he reached in to try and grab her away from her assailants.

But suddenly, his face contorted in pain, his head whipping around to face some new attacker. Lucy felt the strength of the skeletal people surge up despite her resistance, and suddenly she was being dragged away from him, away from safety.

"Peter!" she cried desperately. He looked up in time to receive a nasty blow in the side and staggered into the wall.

"Lucy!"

He made one last frantic dive for her, battering away mercilessly with his sword, but there were simply too many enemies between the two and he was forced back several paces, now probably fighting as much for his own life as for hers. At the last instant, before she was dragged away, Lucy suddenly realized that if Peter was here, he must have left Edmund alone in the room, unprotected, still wounded.

"Peter, _Edmund!_" she screamed out. His faced crumpled into downright terror and he cast her one last, frightened glance before he realized (as she had before) that there was no way he could get to her, then turned on his heel and bolted back down the hallway. The people did not follow.

As she was dragged down the corridor, head bumping the bony ankles of all her attackers, Lucy felt her consciousness slipping away. An unconscious prayer to Aslan for her brothers' safety escaped her stinging lips as the pounding of footsteps in her ears dulled to a painful murmur and the darkness above her became even dimmer. Still gripping her dagger convulsively, she plunged into a welcome numbness.


	11. Eleven

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. Major, major apologies for the wait time on this. I have no good excuses. I'll try harder next time.

* * *

She awoke, much to her surprise, not entirely uncomfortable. A slow check of her body let her know that first, she had acquired no broken bones or unusual injuries, and that second, her attackers hadn't taken her dagger or cordial. Opening her eyes slowly, she eased herself up so that she could sit on whatever they'd laid her upon; it turned out to be a rough cot, with a thin pillow propped underneath where her head had been. The room was cold but not freezing, since someone had lit a small fire in the miniscule fireplace. The room looked to be some sort of servant's chambers.

"Hello?" she called hoarsely into the room. Her head was aching, and she had a decent assortment of bruises, but both ailments were bearable. She had more important things to think about, like escaping, and finding out whether or not Peter had made it back in time to stop whoever might have attempted to kidnap Ed in his absence.

Sliding off the cot, Lucy made her way over to the little window. It was just big enough for her to crawl through; anyone bigger than her probably wouldn't be able to make it, but when she looked outside she realized that she was probably halfway up the castle – climbing out would mean a thirty-foot drop, suicide. She turned away from it and looked around again. The only other potential exit was the door, and when she walked over to try it, it was locked as expected. With a small noise of frustration, she began to pace back and forth, running various schemes of escape through her head, each more improbable than the last.

It must have been more than an hour before she received any sign from the outside world. The sun, which Lucy hadn't seen since her arrival, was close to arriving at its peak when the door made a clicking noise, and two skeletal men entered. One bore a tray with a meager meal upon it, which he set upon the nightstand as the young queen locked stares with them fiercely.

"What do you want with me?" she demanded when they did not leave. One's purple lips twisted repulsively.

"Are you comfortable, sorceress?" he asked. She crossed her arms.

"I am no sorceress," she said. "And I will not be comfortable until I know why you imprison me, and what state my brothers are in."

"We are not so easily fooled," one of her captors said. "You have used magic to enter our realm, so obviously you are a manipulator of power – a sorceress. As for your brothers, we are not predisposed to tell you of their whereabouts. You may be assured that they are alive."

She crossed her arms. Ordinarily she would doubt that they had been captured, as either one of them alone was worth twenty of the skeletal warriors, and fighting together they were nearly unstoppable, but with Edmund injured and Peter's natural overprotective tendencies, she knew it was possible that had been taken, though for sure they had gone down fighting. She considered this for a moment before turning her attention back to her captors, who had not moved an inch.

"Well, what do you want?" she asked irritably. Her head was still aching, and she did not take well to helplessness.

"For hundreds of years we have sought an escape from this hell," the taller of the two said suddenly, coldly. "We know that your magic has brought you here, so if you wish to be set free, use it to send us away."

"I told you already," she said. "I'm not a sorceress. And why should I help you, after you've shut me up in this dratted place?"

"Because if you don't," one began threateningly. "We will hold you here and kill your brothers should they attempt to rescue you. Know that it is well within our power to do this."

"Threats won't change the fact that I can't do what you ask. The magic we used is contained only in the rings; we just use it, we don't control it."

"Then tell us how we might control it."

Lucy glared at them. If she told them how to use the rings, obviously they would use them, and they would be trapped in the castle until they died. If she didn't, however, that death might be a whole lot sooner. But there was always the chance that Peter and Edmund were still out there, formulating a plan to rescue her, and in that case she shouldn't give away their only bargaining tool.

"I have nothing to say to you," she told them, and turned her back. She heard them exit a few moments after, talking to each other in low voices – she caught something that sounded like "green to come back, only one yellow…" before the door thudded shut. And she suddenly realized that whoever stole Ed's ring must have touched it – with a bit of amusement, she imagined that some poor skeletal soul must be wandering in the Wood Between the Worlds, without a green ring to let him leave.

This was an important piece of information. Somewhere in the castle, there were two green rings and a single yellow, since they undoubtedly wizened up after the first incident. This meant that for her to escape with her brothers, they all had to be in one place at the same time, which would be difficult, given that Edmund was probably not up to fighting his way to her prison whether or not Peter was there to help protect him. She still had her dagger and her cordial. Her mind began to paint a crazy scenario in which she leapt from the window and took a sip of her cordial just as she hit the ground, preventing her inevitable death, and then fighting her way to Peter and Edmund where they sat waiting for her, knowing the whole time she could do it. She laughed quietly and humorlessly at her self. Ridiculous.

There wasn't a point in thinking on an empty stomach, though, so she sat down and began to pick at the stale bread and cheese they had provided for her. There had to be _some _way to escape, somehow. But the only ways out seemed to be the door, which led to death at the hands of her captor, and the window, which led to death at the hands of gravity. It all seemed so hopeless. Ed was injured. Peter was, Lucy thought miserably, mentally wonky. And she had let herself be captured because of her childish stupidity. If they were to make it out of this mess, they needed a miracle.


	12. Twelve

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. But I was much quicker getting around to them this time. Hurrah.

* * *

Miracles, thought Lucy in alarm, were not supposed to be this noisy. It was growing dark outside again, which meant it had been almost a day since they had arrived, and there was a commotion going on outside her prison; she could hear shouts and screams and clanging metal. Having drawn her dagger the instant she heard running footsteps, she waited near the door (but not so close that she would be smacked should it be thrown open), and prepared herself both to heal any heroically maimed brother and to defend one who was being heroically beleaguered.

"Here!" she bellowed at the door. "Peter, Edmund, I'm in here!"

Her answer was the thud of a body slamming against the door, then the following scraping sound as what was probably that same body sliding back down it. There was a muffled crack, like brittle bones snapping through armor, the hair-rising screech of a rusty bolt being thrown and suddenly the door shook violently. She adjusted her grip on her dagger and watched it anxiously, gritting her teeth and anticipating. A second later it flew open, banging loudly against the wall, and Peter shot in, actually colliding with Lucy and sending them both forcefully to the ground. Thankfully, he had turned his sword away at the last second. With a hasty apology he scrambled to his feet, whipped around and threw the door shut, bracing it with his back.

"Hey," he said, breathing hard, eyes still darting around the room, taking in everything. She glared at him and sheathed her dagger before getting up.

"It's about time," she said, but she couldn't help sounding grateful. Suddenly, there was a loud thud at the door and Peter hissed in pain as it was kept shut only by his body.

"Listen, Lu," he panted, chest heaving with exertion. "Ed and I found the rings, but there were only three, one of the…"

"I know," said Lucy. "It's in the Wood Between the Worlds, one of these buggers accidentally touched it."

He frowned at her curse, opened his mouth to reprimand her but it turned into a grunt of pain as another blow shook the door.

"All right," he said, his flickering eyes testifying to his racing mind. "I sent Ed outside with the rings we found, it was too difficult to drag him around the castle looking for you and this place is positively crawling with swords. He should be just below your window, actually, assuming he did what I told him to do…"

Lucy nodded. Another something rammed into the door from outside, but this time Peter buckled forward, dropping to one knee and teeth gritted in agony. It was then that she saw he had taken a bit of a beating to get to her; dark bruises were forming all over his arms and face, and there were some nasty slashes in his sides.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked him quickly, unsheathing her dagger. He staggered upright and pressed his back to the door again. He seemed to be thinking very fast, until finally his jaw set and she knew he'd reached a decision.

"Here," he said, and he produced a short rope from his belt pouch. "It should get you far enough that the drop won't hurt you. There's no way we can fight through the mob out there."

He hurriedly sheathed Rhindon and unfurled the rope, looking around for something to tie it to. Unfortunately, there was nothing – the cot had no sort of hole through which a rope could be threaded, and nothing else in the room was large enough that it wouldn't slide through the window. Peter swore, hastily apologized, then wrapped it tightly around his own fist before tossing the other end to his sister.

"Just hold on tight, Lu, I promise I won't drop you," he told her.

"Peter!" she fumed. "If you think I'm leaving you here, you have another thought coming!"

"It's that or both of us!" he said vehemently. Whoever was trying to get in gave the hardest blow yet – Peter was forced forward a step with a cry of pain, and one stick-thin arm forced its way in through the crack, but he threw himself at it again with such ferocity that the door slammed shut, and the arm cracked and broke as it was crushed. "Go, Lu!"

"I'm not leaving you!" she yelled, stamping her foot.

"Find Ed," he ordered. "Use the rings to get out of here. I'll…I'll…it doesn't mater anyway."

"It does too matter, Peter!" she cried. "It isn't fair! It isn't fair of you to treat yourself like you're not worth anything because you _are,_ Peter, you're our big brother and we love you! Don't do this!"

"I appreciate it, Lu," he said levelly. "I love you too. But there isn't another way. I can't last more than another fifteen minutes against the kind folks outside this door. And I'm not risking your life."

The door took another hit and he closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath as if trying to block out his pain. Then his eyes flipped open, focused on hers, and he said in an unmistakable voice,

"Go."

It was a command, and there was no room for debate in his tone. Tears of frustration and anger began pricking painfully at the corner of Lucy's eyes, but she swallowed and put away her weapon and made her way to the window, standing on the cot to enable herself to crawl through. It was a tight fit, and she was quite scared. Just before she stuck her legs out into the open, she cast one final glance at her eldest brother. He had drawn his sword, still holding the rope that held her with one hand, and his eyes were narrowed in determination. She swallowed hard, then allowed her feet to slip from the safety of the windowsill and braced them against the castle's outer wall. The jolt made Peter take a step forward, and his hand was already turning white from the tightness of the rope wound about it, but he held fast. Just before he disappeared from her sight, he gave her a small smile and said,

"I'm sorry, Lu. Sorry for everything."

And she began to cry bitterly.


	13. Thirteen

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. But I'm back in the swing! This chapter is dedicated to Shauna and SubOrbital, who put up with my depression-induced crankiness last night.

* * *

Swallowing hard, Lucy chanced a glance downwards. The rope extended what seemed to be a little more than three-quarters of the way to the bottom. She didn't see Ed anywhere, but there was an outcropping somewhere near the ground that he could well be under, so she looked back up and began to slowly lower herself down, hand-over-hand with her feet braced on the outer wall. She tried to move as gradually as possible, knowing that any sudden movements would exponentially increase the amount of weight Peter already had to bear. It was a marvel he could hold her at all, and she didn't want to push him. He would need his strength if he was going to battle his way out of that whole mob, which he _was _going to – she told herself this fiercely – it didn't matter what he said he could or couldn't do; he had never failed in battle yet and he wasn't about to now.

About seven feet down from where she'd started, the rope suddenly slid down a good three feet, making her scream and clutch it desperately. It jerked to a halt, yanking her arms painfully, and it took a good minute to calm her racing heart as she looked down at what could have been her doom. Only when her fear for her own life had passed did she even stop to consider what might've caused it – something had caused Peter to either stagger backwards three feet, or drop it for an instant. Whatever it was, she knew she had very little time.

She began to climb more quickly, refusing to let herself look down. Every time she did, she would stop moving for a minute, and she didn't have enough spare minutes to keep doing it, so she forced herself, counting in her head, _twenty feet down, nineteen, eighteen…_when her foot came past the place where the rope ended, she looked down again – the rope had not been terrifically long to start with, and there was still about six feet of air between her boots and the ground. She summoned the valiance that the Narnians had come to know her for, and prepared herself to let go.

She never had the chance. The rope abruptly went slack, plummeting the last stretch with her, slithering out the window. She screamed as she fell, still clutching the rope, but her fall came to an end a little sooner than she'd expected, and Edmund grunted in pain as he caught her in his outstretched arms.

"By Aslan, Lu," he grumbled, depositing her on the ground less than ceremoniously. "Do you mean to deafen a chap, or crush him?"

"Neither, Edmund, I'm sorry," she said, then threw her arms around his neck, tears springing to her eyes again.

"Is Peter coming?" he asked, detangling himself from her embrace. He cast a glance at the window skeptically.

"You won't believe this," she said furiously, trying to hide her fear. "He…"

"…told us to leave without him," Ed said as if it were plainer than pudding. He looked tired and worn, and still bore the marks from his fight earlier, ugly bruises and scabbed cuts, but his eyes were glinting darkly. When she nodded, he gritted his teeth and looked again at the window. He seemed to think for a moment, then bent down and gathered the rope, coiling it and tucking it into his belt, except for one end which he left hanging down just a touch.

"Well, what are we doing?" Lucy asked perplexedly.

"Rescuing him, of course," Edmund said in the most matter-of-fact voice. He began to lead the way around the edge of the castle, pulling up the loose end of the rope and looping it up to make a sort of noose on the end, tied with a slipknot. Lucy's heart leapt at the prospect, but her eager smile faded slightly as she saw the limp in her brother's step.

"Are you…are you well enough to fight?" she questioned.

"Don't be a Peter, Edmund told her, now beginning to tie knots at various intervals on the rope. "He kept doing that, shoving me into hiding spots and fighting my battles for me, claiming I was 'still too weak,' blah blah blah. I'm just a little banged up is all. If I don't think about it, it doesn't hurt."

"All right," she said. She came to a halt beside him as he scanned the next wall, until his eyes settled on a stone gargoyle about a third of the way up the castle, and a small 'aha' escaped his lips.

"What are you doing?" she asked curiously.

"You're just full of questions today," he muttered. He began to swing the rope back and forth above the ground, getting it to pick up momentum. At last, when it was a blur, whirring through the air beside his head, he threw it upward. It arced beautifully, but still hit the wall and slid back down. It took him two more tries before he got it on the fourth, securing the loop he'd made around the ugly gargoyle's head. "That's what I'm doing. There's no way to get in the gates, they locked them after I escaped. I know, because I tried to get back in and help our moronically heroic brother."

There was a large window a few feet to the side of the gargoyle, Lucy noticed; Ed had picked it well. He pulled it taut, and she nodded and immediately stepped forward. It was different than climbing trees, which she was quite good at, and her hands already ached, but the knots he had tied made it much easier; it only took her about five minutes to reach the window, which she quickly grasped hold of and managed wriggle her way inside. Edmund followed a few moments later, groaning and tumbling off the sill to land in a heap on the floor.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked him as he clutched at his bruised ribs, eyes shut tight.

"Too late to turn back now," he said, rolling onto his side and letting her push him half-upright. With the assisting hand she offered him, he managed to stagger to his feet and draw his sword. She pulled out her dagger. Peter would have immediately told her to put it away, but Edmund merely gave her a solemn nod and they set off down the deserted corridor. It wasn't hard to determine where Peter was; the sound of a battle leaked through the floor above them, and they could hear screams and the _thud _of bodies striking the floor.

The two youngest Pevensies, who were not quite so young anymore, took off down the hallway and up the first flight of stairs they could find, emerging into a long, wide hallway that was empty on the edges, but packed at the center, where a mob of skeletal bodies was attempting to force its way through an open door that sounded as if it was expelling them as they came; several would go flying back into the crowd a second after they entered, and others seemed to just disappear. There was already a heap of dismembered corpses blocking the entryway. Edmund and Lucy shared one last glance before sprinting forward, weapons raised.

"For Narnia!" Edmund cried, his limp gone as he charged.

"For Aslan!" Lucy echoed, her dagger poised.

And then they were upon them, smashing their foes aside as the two barreled into the thick of the battle, blades slashing limbs from already-dead bodies until they were standing before the doorway. Edmund leapt in first, parrying the blow that almost took his head from his shoulders. Lucy slipped under his arm and into the room as Edmund glared fiercely at his older brother, who (aside from bearing several new and nasty wounds) was looking as if he'd been rudely insulted.

"You!" he bellowed over the battle-noise, stare still fixated on Edmund as his fist connected with an enemy that was attempting to sneak up on the younger king.

" Moron!" Edmund yelled.

Lucy flew to Peter's side, seizing his hand as Edmund sheathed his sword, slapped Peter across the face and plunged his hand into his belt-pouch almost all at once. And then the world blurred, swirling around them as they were borne away, feeling the warmth return to their limbs.


	14. Fourteen

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. They own me.

* * *

Lucy emerged from the pool in the Wood Between the Worlds to the familiar sound of her brothers shouting furiously at each other. She clambered out of the water that wasn't really water, sheathing her dagger (there was no need to clean it, as their enemies had had no blood anyway) and dropping onto the bank with a sigh.

"When I give you an order, I…"

"You bloody prick, did you think…"

"Don't cuss! Now listen…"

"No, _you _listen here, you oaf…"

"Stop interu…"

"Will you quit trying to…"

Lucy watched them with some amusement, feeling rather sleepy and tired despite their enthusiasm. Both were on their sides in the shallows, scrambling to get higher while still trying to hold the upper hand in their argument. She rolled away a bit, remembering to look for the person in possession of the other yellow ring, and caught sight of a bewildered looking man wandering a few pools away. Strangely, he held none of the appearance of the men from the castle, only the same black tunic and boots that they all wore. As Peter and Edmund continued to bicker behind her, she got to her feet and meandered across the pools until he noticed her coming and stopped moving, staring expectantly.

"Hello," she said pleasantly. "How do you do?"

"Er," he said. "I…don't know? Who are you? Where am I?"

"I am Lucy Pevensie," she told him. "You are in the Wood Between the Worlds. And I believe you have my brother's ring, so if you could please give it here, I would be most grateful."

"Oh, this?" he asked, pulling the yellow ring from his finger. He handed it to her without question. "I was wondering how I got that."

"You actually beat my brother into unconsciousness and took it from him."

He blinked.

"I don't exactly remember doing that, young lady."

"That's because I don't believe you are the same person here as you are there. Thus you wouldn't really have the same memories. And I would assume you'd like to return to some sort of world, though I daresay the one you came from wouldn't be your first choice."

"Again, I don't remember it," the man said bewilderedly. "But if I really did what you said I did, then perhaps going back would be a bad idea."

"Wonderful," Lucy said, tucking the ring away. "If you would just follow me…"

She led him back towards her brothers, who were still arguing, though they were almost managing complete sentences now.

"Are they always this…this…" the man fumbled.

"Loud?" Lucy offered. He nodded. "No, not always. Just most of the time."

As they approached, there seemed to be a breakthrough; Edmund said something very quietly, and Peter seemed to soften, touching his brother's arm gently and replying with another quiet comment. A second later they had both embraced one another and were apologizing profusely for all the names they'd just called one another, and possibly for more than that, though Lucy could never be sure with them. To be sure, they were a touch confusing – they argued more than almost anyone she knew, and yet underneath it all it was clear they loved each other fiercely.

Of course, as soon as they noticed they had an audience, they scrambled away from each other and tried to look as if nothing had happened. After all, even though theyknew they loved each other, showing it in front of other people, now that was a challenge to their manly dignity. Lucy rolled her eyes fondly and helped them to their feet.

"Where to next?" she asked. They looked questioningly at her guest, and Peter's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he saw the uniform and connected two and two.

"Are you the one who…" he began accusingly, subtly shifting to cut between the man and his siblings, but Lucy stopped him.

"It's okay," she said. "It's different. He's a different person here."

Peter didn't seem quite satisfied, but he agreed to drop the man off in whatever new world he ended up in, and even gave him a few gold pieces to help him out wherever that might be. They were about to set off, but Lucy frowned and looked her brothers over carefully. It didn't even take a close examination to see that they weren't in any real shape to be traveling into an unknown environment. She pursed her lips, unconsciously donning a Susan-esque expression, and placed her hands upon her hips before speaking in her most stern tone.

"Now really," she said. "Do you expect me to let you go on like this?"

She indicated their various injuries; the leaking gashes in Peter's sides, the purple bruises all across Edmund's face, the nicks and cuts across both their hands and almost everywhere else.

"I'm fine," Peter said defensively. "But Ed could do with a drop of cordial."

"Bullocks," said Edmund, eyes flashing. "I'll be all right in no time. It's Peter you ought to give it to."

"I was going to give it to you both," she told them. They both looked indignant. And after five minutes of further bickering, she realized she was getting nowhere, turned to her confused guest, and resolved to find some way to force it to them later. Then the four of them selected a random pool, made their way to it, and waded forth into their next adventure.

They wound up in a city square. The sun was bright overhead, and there were people all around, but they didn't seemed the least bit perturbed that four others had suddenly appeared in the midst of them. With a word of thanks and of apology, eyeing the marks on Edmund's face and neck, the man they'd met between worlds departed off down a street and seemed to know where he was going. In contrast, the Pevensies turned to one another and seemed at a loss for where to begin – unlike before, there were a thousand options. Thankfully, they didn't seem to stick out much; it seemed in a way similar to Narnia, though more tamed and human-attuned, but the people dressed similarly and the men carried swords, so the three of them weren't exactly perceived as a threat.

"First things first," Peter said at last, taking charge. Lucy and Edmund shared a fleeting smile. "We find some place to eat, and some place to rest. We're all exhausted."

"True," Lucy agreed, and even Edmund had to admit he wasn't tireless. They moved off together, staying close to one another, looking out for some sort of inn at which they might stay the night, which would probably come in another few hours, and find something substantial to eat. Lucy's guess was that her brothers had not eaten in quite a while; her own last meal had been the meager lunch her captors had provided her with several hours before.

They settled on the most respectable-looking tavern they could find, where Peter traded one gold coin for a room for that night and supper that evening for the three of them. And then at last, they sat down to rest.


	15. Fifteen

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. I do own three pennies, a nickel and two dimes, which are in my back pocket at the moment.

* * *

"Early dinner," Peter announced, though it could almost be called a late lunch, given that the sun had barely begun to sink outside the one tavern window. They had been sitting at the same corner table for almost an hour, Edmund slumped across it, Peter resting his head against the wall and Lucy trying to convince them both to take a bit of cordial, which of course had never amounted to anything. Peter lifted his head from the wall and got to his feet wearily, making his way through the dimly lit room and over to the bar, where he held a quick conversation with the bartender, a burly man who looked as though he didn't think too much of them.

When he slid back into his seat a moment later, Lucy gave him a questioning look.

"On its way," he told her. And sure enough, a few minutes after the bartender had shouted something unintelligible into the side room, a plump, smiling woman with long red hair braced the door open with her hip and made her way towards their table, bearing a tray with three bowls, a pot, and a loaf of steaming bread upon it. She hovered over them a minute as Lucy attempted to prod Edmund off the table and into wakefulness ("five more minutes…") until Peter finally one-handedly pushed him backwards; the younger king slid off his chair, struck his head upon the edge of the table and woke up with a start. Then the bowls were placed in front of them, the pot (which turned out to contain a thick stew) was set in the center of the table, and the bread split between them. Edmund clambered back into his chair, shooting a grudging look at Peter and rubbing his head.

They ate in silence for a while, watching the people slowly trickle into the tavern as the day grew closer to its end. After a moment, the woman who had brought them their food returned, her hair now tucked up into a net and her sleeves rolled up.

"Would you be liking anything to drink, dearies?" she asked with a dimpled smile. She was much older than them, probably somewhere in her forties, but looked as though she would have little trouble holding her own in a brawl (which was probably a good thing, thought Lucy, noting the rather seedy appearance of the establishment).

"Oh," said Peter, taken somewhat by surprise. "Yes, please. Ale is fine for me, and I think water for…"

"I'll have a mug of ale, too," said Edmund pointedly, doing his best to look older than his sixteen years. Their server chuckled.

"Are you sure about that, lad?" she asked. "This stuff is a right bit stronger than most of what you'll find."

"I'll be fine," Edmund replied smoothly. Peter opened his mouth to object, but the women had already swept off, leaving him to look at his brother in disapproval. Lucy smothered a giggle in her hand. Of course, it worked out well for her, since ale tasted stronger than water, and they would be less likely to notice her trick before it was too late.

When their server returned with their drinks, an amused twinkle in her eye, Lucy surreptitiously unscrewed the lid of her cordial beneath the table and waited for an opportunity. It came when an enormous man staggered into the tavern, heading for the red-haired matron who had only just been waiting upon them; Peter and Edmund jumped to their feet, ready for a fight, but the robust woman just laughed and ushered the man into a seat. While her brothers were distracted, Lucy quickly poured a drop of the fireflower cordial into both their mugs, quickly recapping it and returning it to its case. Apparently satisfied that a fight wasn't necessary, the kings took their seats. Lucy silently prayed that they would take a drink at the same time – luckily, they did so, reaching for their mugs and bringing them to their lips almost in unison. She noted amusedly that Edmund grimaced slightly at the taste, but as soon as Peter glanced at him, took on a cool face and drank more deeply, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he'd finished. Peter raised an eyebrow – then both.

"You…" he began, alarmed, staring at his brother. The discoloration on Edmund's cheeks had begun to drain, as too were the marks upon his neck; the scabs and cuts were closing, replaced by smooth, freckled skin. Lucy watched as Peter's wounds, too, began to heal, the barely-scabbed gashes in his sides meshing and smoothing until there was only blood-crusted skin. The two brothers' heads shot to the side, staring fiercely at Lucy, frozen.

"Lucy!" Edmund barked.

"Yes?" she replied evenly.

"You…you…what were you thinking?" he demanded, flustered.

"I was thinking that you were both too thick to take it naturally," she said. "I'll clean you up later, before we go to bed. How's that?"

"Lucy!" Peter protested. "I told you it was only to be used for…"

"…emergencies," she finished. "We don't know where we're going or what we'll encounter. You two weren't in any shape to hold up your end of a fight. Look, Peter, Father Christmas gave the cordial to me, not to you. I decide how it's used."

"Now look here," he began, sitting up straight. "I'm High King, and…"

"Oh, stuff it," Edmund grumbled, leaving a rather startled Peter blinking with his mouth still open. Edmund took another deep swig of his ale, coughed a bit, slammed the mug back down on the table and ripped off a piece of bread with his teeth. Still chewing, he told his brother, "Can't change it now anyway. Too late."

Peter slumped, defeated, and picked at his stew. A few minutes later, in which there was only the noise of the increasingly crowded tavern, their server returned with two pitchers, refilling their drinks and asking them if there was anything with which she could help.

"Yes, actually," Peter said. "Could you tell us where we are? We're travelers, you see."

She fixed them with a bit of an odd look.

"Why, you're in the great city of Tamitha, of course," she told him. "It's the only civilization you'll find this side of the Void."

"Of course," Peter said diplomatically. Lucy wondered what the Void was, and also wondered why Peter didn't ask – the woman, seeing they had no further questions, hurried off to help her other customers. Edmund stared dimly into his ale before taking another long drink.

"Edmund?" Lucy asked gently, putting a hand on his arm. "Are you sure you should be…"

"I'm fine," he slurred, blinking blearily. Peter raised an eyebrow and reached over to take the younger king's mug away, but Edmund clutched it tighter and wouldn't allow it, muttering, "Bugger off."

"Language, Ed," said Peter warningly.

"I'll…I'll say what…I wanna say," Ed protested, his tongue apparently too much for him to wield. He began to slip to one side, almost falling off his chair, but Peter's hand shot out and steadied him.

"Oh, Ed," Lucy sighed. "You've gone and had too much ale, haven't you?"

"M'not drunk!" he protested, struggling to his feet, brow furrowed in the effort of it. Lucy glanced at his empty mug, glad that at least he'd eaten his supper before becoming inebriated.

"It'll be time to turn in, soon, anyway," Peter muttered to Lucy. "Are you finished? We should probably take him outside."

"Are you t…talking ab…bout me?" Edmund asked, face flushed and angry. "M'not…m'not…"

He toppled to one side. Peter shot out of his chair, swiftly catching him before he could hit the floor. A few of the men at the tables around them laughed good naturedly. Peter gave them a thin, apologetic smile before hefting his now unconscious little brother over his shoulder and extending his hand to Lucy. The three of them made their way out of the room and into the night, which was pleasantly cool in contrast to the warm room, the unfamiliar stars above gleaming brightly. Peter led the way around the side of the wooden building and over to the staircase that would lead to their room for the night, but Lucy caught sight of a fountain in the square that the tavern bordered, and pointed. Her brother nodded gratefully.

Lucy sat on the edge of the fountain as Peter laid Edmund down next to her, sitting at his brother's feet and leaning over to scoop some water from the fountain's basin. He brought his cupped hands over Edmund's face and let the water trickle between his fingers. It ran in little rivulets across the younger king's freckles, dampening the curled edges of his bangs that hung over his eyes and wetting the collar of his cloak. It was another three tries before Ed came to, spluttering and looking murderous. Lucy quickly pulled his head into her lap before he could do anything rash.

"Lu?" he mumbled groggily.

"Yes, Ed."

"Mmpf."

"Let's go to bed," Peter said tiredly, getting to his feet and wiping his wet hands on his tunic. Lucy nodded and gently slipped the younger of her brothers' head off her lap, stepping aside to allow Peter through. Ed groaned.

"I can walk," he growled. Peter ignored him and eased him into a sitting position so that he could pick him up, carrying him over to the base of the stairs and beginning his ascent. Lucy followed, slipping past him at the top to open the door; they had one room with two beds, the third door on the left. Inside, it was cozy and though not entirely clean, certainly not dirty. Peter gently set his brother down on one of the beds, and he and Lu together removed Edmund's boots, sword belt and cloak, despite his faint protests. In a few minutes, they too were ready to retire; Peter came over to tuck his sister in, whispering good night before sliding into bed beside Edmund, who would probably hurt him for it in the morning. Lucy whispered her own good nights, then blew the candle out. And they slept.


	16. Sixteen

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. Who would want to own the Pevensies, anyway? Slavery isn't in my interest.

* * *

_Lucy stood on the edge of a great precipice. It seemed that a step away from her, the world simply ceased to exist; a great hole plummeted into blackness, stretching further than she could see. She found herself unable to turn around, to see what was behind her; she could only see the great void and feel herself teetering. Somehow, though, she knew she wouldn't fall. _

_ All at once, a voice cried out to her – it seemed ages since she'd last heard it. _

_ "Lucy!" Susan called. She sounded as though she was somewhere beyond the nothingness, across it somehow, though Lucy could see no end to it. Still, her eyes lit with hope and her mouth opened in astonishment as she leaned forward, straining. _

_ " Susan?" she asked the abyss.. _

_ "Oh Lucy, I knew you'd find me," Susan's voice said, filled with relief. _

_ " Susan, where are you?" _

_ "I can't tell you, Lu," Susan replied sadly. "You have to find me. But you're close, if you can just find a way. I know you can." _

_ "But Su…" _

_ "You can, Lu. I know it." _

_ "Su, we miss you so much," Lucy said, tears beginning to fill her eyes. The air around her stirred for the first time. It lifted her hair ever-so-slightly, tucking a loose strand behind her ear, and Susan's voice spoke again. _

_ "I miss you too," she said gently. "Don't lose hope. I'll see you again, Lucy, whether tomorrow or in a hundred years. I promise." _

_ "Su, please don't leave, we need you, I…" _

_ There was another rustle in the wind, and _she awoke.

"That was idiotic, Edmund," Lucy heard Peter say. She opened her eyes and rubbed them tiredly, automatically reaching over to pick up her dagger and cordial belt. Blinking a few times and fumbling with them, she turned her head to look over at the other bed, where Edmund was lying on his stomach, groaning and holding his head in his hands. Peter was sitting up, rubbing his brother's back absently, looking a bit less than sympathetic. "Really. You ought to know better."

"Shut up," Ed grumbled. He rubbed circles at his temples.

"Good morning, Lucy," Peter said, noticing she was awake. She mumbled a reply, still quite sleepy and disoriented from her dream, though she'd worked herself into a sitting position. Finally managing to buckle her belt, she dropped her hands to the sheets and took in the room. Sunlight was streaming through the one window, little specks of dust dancing in the rays before settling on the few pieces of furniture (and on Edmund, who had buried his face in the pillow with a pained whimper).

"How are you feeling, Ed?" she mumbled. He lifted his head from the pillow and grumbled,

"Like Oreius kicked me in the head."

Peter snorted, gave Ed's back one last pat and rose, reaching for his sword. Edmund didn't move. Lucy slipped her feet out from under the blanket and dangled them over the edge of the bed, sliding into her boots and standing. Peter stretched and yawned, half-drawing his sword to make sure it came out of the sheath easily, then reached down and shoved Edmund onto his side.

"Come on, up and at it," Peter told him. Ed made a rude hand gesture, at which Peter's mouth pressed itself into a line.

"You're setting a very poor example for Lu, you know," he said warningly.

"You sound like Susan," Ed said into the pillow.

" Susan!" Lucy exclaimed, suddenly remembering her dream. Peter looked up at her quizzically, and Edmund bothered to lift his face out of his pillow, looking over with squinted eyes. "I had a dream!"

"Did you?" Edmund asked grouchily. Peter swatted his shoulder.

"Go on, Lu," he said.

She told them about her dream, and about Susan's revelation – they were close.

"So we must be in the right place," Lucy finished earnestly, sitting on the edge of her bed. Peter looked thoughtful, and there was a pause after her speech's completion as both her brothers mulled it over. Finally, Peter set his shoulders and pulled his cloak on, fastening the clasp with deft fingers.

"I would say not to depend on a dream, but we haven't got anything better to go on," he said. "But first things first – we need to get ourselves some new clothes. I left my pack back in that dratted castle, and I think you two did as well, so before we do any rescuing, we should freshen up."

"All right," said Lucy agreeably. She rose and grabbed her own cloak, as the morning was a touch chilly, then leaned across the space between the beds to extend a hand to Edmund. He blinked groggily at her.

"I'll just stay here," he mumbled.

"No, you won't," said Peter. "And if you won't get up by choice, I'll have you know it's not beneath me to carry you again."

"All right! Fine, fine, I'm up," Ed grouched, sliding his legs up and over the edge of the bed, groping for his belt and sword with one hand as he did so. He shot Peter a very nasty look and donned his cloak.

They emerged a few minutes later, stepping out onto the rickety wooden stairs at the end of the hallway. The sun was already a fair ways up into the sky, and in the fountain square they'd used the previous night, there now was a market set up, with a crowd of people shouting the worth of their goods or arguing over prices. Edmund whimpered.

"So it's rather noisy," said Peter.

"Rather!"

They descended the stairs, slipping into the throng and staying close to one another. Edmund looked faint. Peter explained to Lucy that "the morning after one is a fool," (Ed glared), "noises become just another shade of pain." She laughed. He flinched.

An hour later, they had spent four coppers and a silver piece for a new dress for Lu, plain and durable, new tunics and breeches for Peter and Edmund, and breakfast, which for Edmund's sanity they ate as far away from the market as possible. At last, filled and almost contented, Lucy carrying their purchases, they returned to the inn, where they traded one copper piece for baths for the three of them. It was an old metal tub, rusted in places, but on the whole well-kept, and Lucy couldn't argue that it felt wonderful to soak for a short while and rinse the grime from her hair.

At last, freshly clean and dressed in their new clothes, they set out to find their sister.


	17. Seventeen

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. But hey, the last bajillion chapters haven't even contained Narnia, so why is that still in there.

**Author's Note: **This will be the last update before I leave for two and a half weeks - terribly sorry, you'll have to wait until I get back for more. You can use the time you would've spent reading this for something productive, like...watching Narnia. Or eating chocolate. Or wondering why the cheesecake Capegio is incapable of writing decent OCs.

* * *

"Excuse me, have you seen a young woman, about this tall, dark hair, probably very…"

Lucy trailed off as the woman she'd been attempting to speak to swept past her without a second glance. Peter looked sympathetic, Edmund had his eyes shut and was breathing deeply, almost asleep on his feet.

"I don't really think this is a good way to go about it, Lu," said Peter gently, putting a hand on her shoulder. "We need to ask someone who really sees everyone, or at least think about where Su would go."

"She's very practical," Lucy thought aloud. "Perhaps she would have gone to some sort of magician, to try and find a way back."

"Good thinking," said Peter. "Why don't we ask if this world has something like a freelance magic trade?"

Lucy nodded and the two of them moved forward, Peter reaching back to jab Edmund in the chink of his traveler's armor (the younger king jumped and yelped, hurrying after them with quite a bit of angry muttering). The next person she tried to speak to, an elderly gentleman with a kind twinkle in his eyes, stopped when she called out to him, and bent down with a hand cupped around his ear.

"What's that, sweetheart?" he asked.

"Sorry to bother you, sir," she said. "We were wondering if this city has any sort of magician for hire, an enchantress perhaps?"

"Oh, all the magic in Caelan is controlled by King Valin," the man said, straightening out. "The only office in Tamitha is in Central Square, right between City Hall and the Wren bay."

Lucy blinked.

"Right, thank you, sir," said Peter, equally confused, but polite nonetheless. The gentleman bobbed his head genially and went on his way, disappearing into the crowd.

"To Central Square, then?" Lucy asked. Peter nodded and set out with a determined stride. Lucy followed with a bit less surety, and Edmund didn't follow at all; he stood and stared at his brother with dulled, pain-hazed eyes, still managing to look vaguely smug despite this. When his brother and sister turned back to look at him, he arched one eyebrow and remarked,

"I wouldn't follow someone who has no clue where he's going, Lu."

Peter flushed.

"I would assume Central Square is in the center of the city!" he said hotly.

"And do you have any idea where the edge of it is, much less the center?" Edmund countered before muttering, "Boys. They never ask directions."

"Um," said Lucy. She left it at that.

Central Square was indeed at the center of the city, though Peter _had_ been heading in the wrong direction (unless, as he claimed, he was simply taking a more scenic route). It took them more than half an hour to reach it, though it probably would have taken more if there hadn't been such crowds. There were so many people in the streets that Lucy began to suspect the buildings were entirely empty during the day. The Square itself was packed full of people, many of them dressed in long, important-looking robes and hurrying in and out of a tall stone building that she guessed was City Hall. Next to it was a small, dingy building with a curtain for a doorway, and on the other side – the three of them stopped in wonderment.

Lucy thought distantly that it had to be what the man had called the Wren bay. It was staggering in size (if they hadn't been so intent on finding their way, they would have seen it long before reaching the square), a tower that stretched towards the sky, swaying dangerously in even the light wind. Magic probably held it up, and it certainly supported the enormous wooden creation that dangled in mid-air beside the tower. A Wren, decided Lucy – it looked something like a shallow ship with massive, ungainly wooden wings protruding from its sides. It was quite high up, but she guessed that it was probably thirty feet tall, fifty wide and eighty long not counting the wings. It was obviously a transport of some sort.

"Incredible," said Peter under his breath, shading his eyes against the sun. Lucy murmured in agreement.

"Let's go," said Edmund crankily.

"Yes, Mr. Sunshine," Lucy teased, leading the way towards the rather run-down building between the two more impressive ones, assuming it had to be the government magic office. It took them a few minutes to cross the square. When they reached their destination, she pushed the threadbare blue curtain aside and stepped inside, blinking as her eyes had to adjust from brilliant sunshine to the dim light that made it through the doorway. Inside, aside from the notable amount of dust, there was a desk behind which sat a young woman with lank blonde hair, idly twisting her hair around her finger and giving Peter the eye. Beyond her, there was a long hallway with several doors.

"Hello," said Lucy amiably. The girl tore her eyes away from Peter and looked at her boredly.

"What are you looking to buy?" she asked, the words falling off her tongue without interest.

"Oh, we're not here to er…purchase anything, we were just wondering, have you seen…"

"No," said the girl. "This is my first day on the job, and you're the first people to wander in here."

"Well, is there anyone we could speak to who would be more useful?" Edmund cut in. She eyed him with a bit of interest, but returned her eyes to Peter after a moment. Lucy frowned.

"Second door on the right," the blonde said finally.

"Thank you," said Lucy politely. Edmund, who was closest to the edge of the desk, headed around it and down the hallway, stopping two doors down and rapping smartly on the wood.

"You don't need to knock!" the girl called. "He won't hear you."

Peter thanked her politely, at which Lucy noticed she smiled flirtatiously. Edmund opened the door and the three of them stepped into a room that was positively littered with all sorts of little wooden and metal gadgets, some occasionally making odd noises and twitching. Lucy lifted her foot to avoid having it run over by what appeared to be an overambitious, miniature wooden puppy.

"Hello?" she called into the room. There was a long purple curtain in front of them, separating them from the rest of the room, and now it opened, a weedy-looking man in leather suspenders looking out at them.

"Oh, hello there," he said. "Lost something?"

"Yes, thank you," said Lucy. "We're looking for our sister, see. We're almost certain she's somewhere in this world, but we haven't the slightest idea where to begin looking."

"Understood," the man replied, wiping his hands on his trousers and stepping away from the curtain, into their side of the room.

"Can you help us?" Lucy asked, when he simply stood there.

"Not magically – to use any sort of magic, you need written permission from the king, and I'll eat my niece if that ever happens. He rarely grants permission for anything but the Wren flights. But I do know that a young lady mysteriously appeared recently, actually. The news was all over. Rumor has it she dropped right into the middle of the king's jousting tournament in armor, and made a good job of the first three palace guards that tried to apprehend her."

"That's our Su," said Peter, beaming.

"Oh, please, sir," breathed Lucy excitedly. "Couldn't you tell us where she is?"

"Of course," he said with a smile. "She'd be in Tamas. That's Tamitha's twin city, on the other side of the Void. You'll need to catch a Wren to get there; no one's ever crossed the Void and lived."

"How do you know she's there?" questioned Edmund.

"Because she's at the king's court. He plans to marry her in less than a week."

"_What?_"

The magician threw up his hands defensively, no doubt terrified by the matching expressions of incredulity, shock and anger on the Pevensies' faces.

"I'm only passing on what I know!" he said hurriedly. The three exchanged dark looks.

"When does the next…er…Wren leave?" Peter asked.

"The king is only accepting one more flight before his wedding, and only guests who were specifically invited are allowed on it."

"This is awful!" Lucy cried. "We have to stop them, somehow."

"Sorry, just what is the Void?" asked Peter, as if he had just thought of something. The magician looked at him curiously.

"The country Caelan has two major cities, young man," he said. "Tamitha and Tamas. They're separated by fifty miles of uncharted wilderness called the Void. No one knows for sure what lives in it, but no one has ever successfully crossed it without flying over. That's why the Wrens were developed. Unfortunately, when Valin ascended the throne, he put strict limits on when they could fly, and who could buy tickets."

Peter looked around at his siblings before turning back to the man, who was now fiddling with one of the gadgets on the floor.

"Thank you for your time," he said, sounding rather overwhelmed. The three siblings shared another look, then headed for the door. 


	18. Eighteen

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. But I _am _back. I missed you all.

* * *

"So what are we going to do?" Lucy asked bewilderedly as they stepped into the hallway. It was just too much information all at once – she kept running things over in her head, and all she could figure out was that the only way to stop her sister from being married to a despotic king was to somehow either commandeer a gargantuan, magic-operated flying vessel named after a small bird, fly it unaided to a city she'd never visited and somehow break into a strange castle, or attempt to make it through a wood that had never been traversed before, probably teeming with untamed and magical wilderness and again break into a strange castle. It wasn't terrifically promising.

"Well we can either commandeer a gargan-"

"-We know that," Edmund cut in crankily. "She didn't ask what we _could _do, she asked what we're _going _to do."

"I haven't decided yet," Peter said delicately.

They left the building, stepping again into brilliant sunlight, trailed by the eyes of the magician's secretary, who still wouldn't stop ogling Peter (Edmund shot her a glare on the way out). The square was still crowded, though much of it was bathed in the shadow of the Wren that still hovered at its dock.

"Why don't we try and see if they'll sell us tickets?" Lucy suggested.

"Sir Suspenders already told us the king will only let wedding guests buy them," Edmund said sourly.

"It can't hurt to try," said Peter, turning to face the towering structure. His face broke into a teasing smile. "Maybe they'll think because I'm rich, you're demanding and Lu's pretty, we must be aristocracy and thus invited."

Lucy burst out laughing. Edmund glared, but followed when she and Peter made their way over to the base of the Wren bay, where a little wooden door was reinforced with ornate iron patterns and a fancy handle. Lucy reached for it, considered knocking, and looked to Peter for guidance. He shrugged. She chose to simply open it, and the three of them stepped into another office, though this one was much neater, and was well-lit with oil lamps placed at intervals on the walls. The secretary's desk was organized, papers sitting in orderly piles and a quill pen placed at a perfectly perpendicular angle to everything else. Behind it sat a middle-aged woman in a crisp, starched uniform, her graying hair tied in a tight knot upon her head and her watery blue eyes watching them carefully.

"Good day," she said. "How may I be of service?"

"We were looking to purchase tickets, m'am," said Peter respectfully. "For the next Wren flight."

" Names, please," she replied, reaching for her quill and a list that lay on top of one of piles of paper.

"Pevensie," Peter said. "Peter, Edmund and Lucy."

She arched one plucked eyebrow and ran the tip of her quill down the list, flipping it over once and continuing the process until she raised her head and fixed them with a look.

"I'm sorry," she said, not sounding very sorry. "You don't seem to be on the guest list, and as you know, the next Wren flight is reserved only for His Highness's wedding guests. You'll have to wait until after the ceremony."

"Could you check again?" Edmund asked meaningfully, slipping a few gold coins onto the table. Peter shot him a truly fearsome look, eyes opening wide with shock and anger, teeth clenching. Lucy froze. The secretary's businesslike air disappeared in an instant, replaced by pure, frightening frostiness. She stared at Edmund with steely eyes.

"I'm quite sure I've checked thoroughly," she said, cold disdain dripping from every word. "If you leave immediately, I shall be kind enough not to report you to the city guard for bribery."

They left in a hurry. Lucy made a point of not standing between her brothers. Just as she'd expected, as soon as they were outside, Peter rounded on Edmund, blue eyes alight with anger.

"Just what was that all about?" he demanded, fists clenching. Ed glared back up at him defiantly.

"We weren't going to get anywhere doing anything else!" he retorted. "It might have worked, and _then_ would you have been angry with me?"

"Yes!" Peter said emphatically. "You are a _king_, Edmund! You have a sense of decency! Bribery is _not _acceptable!"

"And what was your brilliant plan? Going to be so infuriatingly polite, she couldn't resist giving you tickets? Going to be so chivalrous, she'd lose her eyesight and decide we were invited? The world doesn't work like that, Peter!"

"Well it was no reason to…"

"…there you all are!" a new voice cut in. The brothers spun away from each other, and Lucy looked up from where she'd been hovering between them, afraid of intervening. To her surprise, the man they'd met between worlds came running up to them, no longer in the somber black of the world he'd come from but in a pleasant blue, and looking delighted to see them.

"Hello!" she called, happy for a diversion. He smiled and gave her a wave.

"I've been searching for you all morning," he said. "I've been remembering more and more of what's happened, and why I was where I was and such."

Edmund raised an eyebrow.

"And I'm so terribly sorry for what I did to…say, you look much better than you did yesterday," the man said, confused. Lucy giggled, remembering her trick. Peter and Edmund looked sulky.

"Some rest and a bath can do wonders," Lucy said pleasantly.

"Quite true. But as I was saying, I was remembering more and more of my past, and I think…I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but I think that other world is a prison of some sort. I don't think I was born or raised there. Before the dark and the cold, I remember green hills, and great forests – and a war. I think I was forced into that world."

"That's possible," said Lucy. "Perhaps you were killed in the war, but it wasn't supposed to happen, so you fell through into that world. That's what's happened to our sister, only she's in this world."

"Really?" the man said. "I suppose our stories are similar, then, but…well, I was wondering…"

He seemed unwilling to go on, so Lucy prompted him.

"Yes?"

"Well, there were others where I came from, weren't there?"

"Yes, there were. Why do you ask?"

"It…it doesn't seem fair to leave them there, does it?"

"Of course not."

"Then we must rescue them!" the man burst out passionately, his green eyes lighting with determination. Lucy and her brothers shared a look.

"What would you…what would you have us do?" Lucy asked uncertainly. They couldn't afford any delays; they had less than a week as it was, and that seemed nowhere near enough time to rescue their sister.

"Use your magic," the man begged. "Put on the rings and take us all back to the dark world. I can convince them, I know I can. We can liberate them, save them from the fate I had to suffer, please, it would take so little effort…"

"It's not effort," Lucy said slowly, looking back at her brothers for reassurance. "It's…well, it's time. We have to rescue our sister first. She's going to be forced to marry the king of this kingdom in a few days' time."

"But…" the man began.

"I'm sorry," Peter interrupted. "We can't. But we promise you – as soon as we have our sister back, we will help your comrades."

The man sagged, but straightened his shoulders after a moment and looked over all three of them carefully. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence (well, not true silence, since the market made an amazing racket behind them), he spoke again.

"I suppose one asking favors can't be resentful if they're not granted," he said. "At least…at least allow me to accompany you on your quest. I will help you save your sister, just as you have promised to help me rescue my people."

Edmund started to say something, but Lucy was already shaking the man's hand and thanking him for his help. Peter looked thoughtful, but after a moment he, too, welcomed the newcomer to their party. Only Edmund remained to the side, watching him with suspicion.

"I must introduce myself," the man said. "My name is Timothy, as I remembered only late last night. And you are?"

Lucy made the introductions, and the four of them set off to find lunch.


	19. Nineteen

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. I do own your soul. Yes, you.

* * *

"So what's your plan?" Timothy asked as they sat down to lunch together. They had found a good selection of fresh fruits, bread and cheeses in the market and made a delightful picnic meal of them, then retreated to a shaded spot beneath the trees of a small public garden in which to eat. "How do you intend to rescue your sister?"

"Frightfully good question," Edmund said, looking at Peter meaningfully. The High King sighed.

"Well, at this point I really only see one option," he said. "We have to get to Tamas, and we can't use the Wrens since they won't sell us tickets. The only other option is to cross the Void ourselves."

"But the magician said no one has ever crossed it before," said Lucy.

"We have to stop Su from getting married," Edmund put in around a mouthful of cheese.

"On her behalf, stop speaking when your mouth's full," said Lucy delicately.

"Yes, Mum."

"We have to consider, though," Peter said seriously, and everyone looked over at him. "Is this…are we willing to risk our lives to prevent this wedding?"

There was a small silence, full of chewing and thought. Finally, Timothy spoke, sounding reluctant to do so.

"Where I come from," he said slowly, "it is customary, when two people are married, to ah…spend the first night rather intimately. If your sister is forced into marrying this king, you must also consider that she may also be forced into other, more unsavory things."

The awkwardness following this statement was broken only when Peter reached for the bread loaf and attempted to cut it with his broadsword, at which Edmund snorted. The younger king produced a small throwing knife from what looked to be a money pouch on his belt and handed it to his brother, who looked shocked for only a short moment before shaking his head and cutting the first slice for Lucy.

"We've got to do it," she said after a minute. "For…for those reasons, and more. Because she's our sister and we'd do anything for her."

"You're right, Lu," Peter said, passing around the small container of berries they'd bought.

"So we're doing it," Edmund said decisively. "We haven't got time to waste. We should leave as soon as we're finished eating, really. Get some supplies – armor for Timothy, food for all of us – and head out, right away. Which way is the Void anyway?"

"Any person in the city ought to know," said Lucy.

"Excuse my ignorance," Timothy cut in. "But what is the Void?"

"Vast, uncharted wilderness that no one's ever managed to cross," Edmund said, waving one hand dismissively. "Without dying, that is."

"Who'd you hear it from?"

"The townsfolk," said Peter. "Why?"

"Probably just stories, then," Timothy said, sitting back. He fiddled with the hilt of his sword. "People like to exaggerate. It's probably just a thick forest is all."

"I'd still suggest getting armor," Ed muttered.

They finished the meal quickly, feeding the leftovers to the birds that had flocked around their picnic. Aided by directions from some of the locals, they also found an armory (or rather, a blacksmith who specialized in armor). There, Peter's expertise found them a reasonable mail shirt, Edmund's skilled haggling found them a reasonable price, and Lucy's quick social grace found them escape after said haggling roused said blacksmith's temper ("throw in your firstborn son and it's a deal"). From there, they proceeded to a smaller market, where with a few copper coins apiece they split up and bought the most basic, nonperishable food that they could find, acquiring enough to (hopefully) last until they reached Tamas.

Regrouped just to the east of the market, the four of them split their purchases into rations and took up the packs Timothy had thought to buy. Then, equipped, armored and ready, they inquired as to the direction of the Void, received a very strange look, and were told it was beyond the city's northern border. They set out for it.

Unfortunately, Tamitha was a rather large city, and it was a good half hour before they finally glimpsed the city walls, and another ten minutes before they broke the crowds and came close enough to see that there was no gate. Lucy stared at it for a moment in befuddlement before Peter caught the attention of a passing elderly woman.

"Excuse me," he said politely. "How does one leave Tamitha, m'am?"

"By Wren, of course," she said as if it were obvious. "You can buy tickets over in Central Square for a good price. After His Highness' wedding, given."

"Ah," Peter said. "You see, that's our trouble, we'd rather like to reach the city _before _the wedding. What I meant to ask is, how would one cross the wall just behind us?"

She fixed him with an odd look. Edmund rolled his eyes behind her back.

"One wouldn't," she said confusedly. "It simply isn't done. What a silly question."

"Yes, how silly," Edmund said dryly. Peter looked as if he would have dearly loved to bury his head in his hands. Thankfully, the sarcasm was obviously lost on the old woman, and she nodded politely at them before hurrying on her way.

"Edmund," Peter said as soon as she was out of hearing distance. " Never touch alcohol again."

"My head doesn't hurt anymore. This is just my natural impudence."

Peter groaned.

"All matters aside – how do we manage this?" Timothy put in, shifting his pack up on his shoulder.

"There are stairs," Lucy said, pointing. And there were; a narrow, uneven set of steps led up to the top of the great stone wall, where the ramparts had been constructed. A single guard was visible, standing with his back to them, watching something beyond the city limits. Lucy noticed that he carried a bow and a full quiver.

"Perfect," said Peter. "Now all we need is some rope."

"Not this again," Edmund grumbled. He was ignored by everyone.

"There was a stable a little ways back," Timothy said. "I'm certain they'd have something."

"Good thinking."

They backtracked slightly and successfully borrowed a long rope from the on-duty stable hand, a weedy-looking teenager who had looked rather overwhelmed by their armaments. When they returned to the wall, the guard had moved closer to the top of the staircase, but as Lucy pointed out, they couldn't be doing anything illegal. At worst, they would be thought fools. So they trooped up the stairs in single-file, holding carefully to the wooden support rail, and arrived at the top, where they looked about for something to which the rope could be fastened.

Lucy's first glance over the top of the wall was rather anticlimactic. For something apparently feared and avoided, the Void didn't look too intimidating. It appeared to be, as Timothy had speculated, simply a rather thick forest, with a wide, fast-running river rushing pleasantly around the side of the city. She supposed this was what supplied their water.

After a few minutes' searching, Edmund discovered a torch bracket a ways down the wall, presumably for the nighttime watch, and Peter fastened the rope to it securely, throwing it down over the edge of the wall. It was a little too long, and it coiled just a touch on the overgrown ground at the foot of the wall, but that certainly beat being too short. After testing the hold in several different ways, Peter pronounced it safe, but said he would go first in case it wasn't after all. He checked his shield to make sure it was securely strapped to his back, checked his sword to make sure it was sheathed properly, checked his siblings to make sure they weren't doing anything he disapproved of, and carefully climbed onto the highest embankment, across which the rope lay.

"Be safe," Lucy bid him. He smiled, took hold of the rope, turned himself around and slid one foot over the edge. Inch by inch, he eased himself over the edge until he could brace both feet against the wall properly and begin to descend. She watched him for a moment, then looked back over at the city side of the wall. A small crowd had begun to gather. People were whispering to each other, pointing and gawking at the scene on the wall.

"Hey, you," Edmund called down to a boy who looked to be about twelve. The boy looked surprised, turning around to see if Edmund was actually talking to someone behind him. Edmund looked impatient. "Yes, you. I'll give you a silver coin if you take this rope back to the stable when we're finished with it."

A silver coin was good money – the boy nodded eagerly.

"Sharp idea," Timothy said, clapping Edmund on the shoulder. Though not thrilled by the physical contact, Edmund managed a thank you and craned his head over the wall to look down at his older brother.

"Hanging in there, Peter?" he called.

"Very funny," came the reply. Peter finished his descent (it was about twenty feet) after a few more minutes and Timothy elected to go next, Lucy after him, and finally Edmund set both feet into the knee-deep brush that covered the ground before the forest started.

As one, the four of them looked over towards the wood. The foliage was dense. Strange shadows played beneath the towering trees. Occasionally, there was the cry of some odd beast, and Lucy felt to make sure she had her dagger. She did.

"Well," Peter said at last. "Let's get moving."

They moved out.


	20. Twenty

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. I do own a toothbrush. Really.

* * *

"All right," Peter said as they trekked out towards the forest. "A few things to bear in mind. We don't know what's in here, but it's been enough to keep an army of men out, so don't do anything stupid. Also, don't split up unless it's absolutely necessary. Keep quiet, keep alert, keep your weapons ready. We travel due north."

There was a general murmur of assent. Lucy frowned and pulled her boots free of the low, thick plants that completely covered the ground. They weren't so much walking as wading through it, and this put her at a bit of a disadvantage, being by far the shortest of the lot (why did Edmund have to have that growth spurt?), and she found herself lagging behind just a bit until Peter doubled back and scooped her right off her feet, settling her into place on his back. With his shield, it was a touch uncomfortable, but she could still thread her feet through his arms and hold onto his neck in a piggy-back carry.

"You're not going to do this the whole way, are you?" she teased gratefully as they caught up with the others.

"Don't count on it," he told her, chuckling.

They continued on towards the wood in silence. At one point, Lucy craned her neck backwards and looked back at the wall; a small crowd of people stood upon the ramparts, watching them solemnly, including the guard who'd been keeping watch. He made no move to fire at them with his bow. And yet Lucy still felt threatened, as if these people were watching them, waiting to see something happen, something that wasn't preferable for the travelers. There was a rustling in the brush - the boys all froze. Lucy felt the hair on the back of her neck raise. But when there was no other noise for a good minute, Lucy spoke, her voice frightened and wavering.

"Just…just the wind, I'll bet," she managed.

"Yes, the wind," Timothy agreed nervously. "We'd best keep moving. We have no time to waste."

"Right," Peter agreed, voice steady. Edmund's eyes were scanning the ground suspiciously. The plants rose to the area between his boots and his knees, and Lucy could see their prickliness had already done a job on his breeches. His knees appeared red and a bit scratched beneath the tattered cloth.

"Are you all right, Edmund?" she asked.

"They're just plants," he said dismissively. "A few little scratches never hurt anyone."

They moved on after a moment, the wall behind them and the forest before them, both ominous. Lucy held tight to Peter's shoulders, keeping her eyes moving, watching for any sign of life in the brush. It crackled beneath the boots of their party, the thirsty plants snapping in their dry state. Lucy could see that where the river lay, off to the east, the ground wasn't so brown, rather a more healthy green, but it slowly grew more and more sickly as the water failed to reach the undergrowth.

"What's that?" Timothy suddenly asked, head jerking to one side. Lucy's eyes flew to where his were pointing – straight down, at his feet.

"What's what?" Edmund asked, only mildly interested.

"Something moved," Timothy said worriedly. He shifted his foot experimentally and let out a great yell. "Something bit me!"

"Probably just a rat," said Edmund.

"Ouch! Again!"

"Several rats," Ed offered.

"And once more!"

"Do your boots have cheese in them, perchance?"

Timothy drew his sword and plunged it into the earth between his feet – there was a hideous squeal and a sort of _squelch_ing noise. When he lifted it, upon the tip there was a grotesque little rodent-like creature impaled, its front legs still waving absently as it twitched to the end of its little life.

"What did I tell you? A rat," Edmund said. "Let's keep moving."

"I don't think that's a rat, Ed," Peter said. He carefully let Lucy down and held out his hand; Timothy handed him his sword and the High King took it, turning it around and examining the critter he'd killed. It was tannish in color, with bristly, rough-looking fur and a rat-like tail, but unlike a rat its snout was blunt, and – Lucy made a noise of surprise and mild disgust – it had an extra set of legs between the two a rat had. Its blankly staring eyes were a faint red color. Frankly, it wasn't very attractive.

"Eeyuch," Lucy said, making a face. Something brushed her feet, buried in the brush. She squealed and moved to one side, only to feel it again. Edmund was looking down at his feet in worry. Only Peter seemed not to notice, until his eyes opened quite wide and he let out a yelp, dropping the sword. Timothy caught it on the way down and shook off the creature, wiping the bloodied tip of his sword on some higher brambles.

"I say we move fast," Peter suggested, staring at his boots in distaste.

"Good idea," Edmund put in. They began wading through the undergrowth in a bit of a rush, the boys drawing their swords and cutting a path through rather than attempting to live and let live.

"Ow!" Lucy cried as something suddenly stung at her foot.

"Hurry," Peter called urgently. He winced, and Lucy knew he'd been bitten too. It wasn't so hard as it was before, now that there was something of a way to follow, but it was still rough going, and the brambles were catching on the hem of her dress every now and then.

"These were new boots when I left," Ed growled, stabbing at something near his foot. There was a shriek and he carelessly flicked the rodent carcass off his sword; it flew off to the side, into the bushes, and a great rush of rustling headed off in its direction.

"Cannibals," Timothy muttered.

"Wouldn't doubt it," Peter said, in the fore now, hacking away at the dry brambles that blocked their path. The forest floor was in view now, and Lucy could see that at least the floor cover ended where the trees took root. It didn't look much more appealing, however, the dense foliage creating a sort of gloomy, tunnel-like effect. Something stung at her foot again and she renewed her pace.

"Peter, what are these things?" she called ahead.

"I've no idea, Lu," he yelled back, rather far ahead now. "But I wouldn't fancy having tea with them!"

She ran a few steps forward and stumbled. Preparing to go face-first into the prickly bushes, she put her arm up over her head, but instead a strong hand caught her, and she looked up to see Timothy's grim face hovering above hers. He hoisted her to her feet and sent her ahead of himself, limping slightly. With a hurried thank-you, she followed Edmund's lead, nervously waiting for the next strike. She had only her dagger, which wasn't much good for driving the creatures away; it was too short, and she was sure she'd lose a hand to the thorns if she attempted to stab anything at her feet.

"We're almost there," Peter called. "Just twenty yards, hold on now."

"Bloody hell!" Edmund exclaimed, nearly dropping his sword and hopping on one foot for a moment.

"Language!" Peter shouted.

"Sunshine, rainbows and butterflies!" Edmund said angrily, beating at the undergrowth with a renewed ferocity.

"Much better!"

The number of bites lessened as they approached the edge, though the thinned brush meant also that Lucy had a clearer view of just what was doing the biting, something almost more unpleasant than the biting itself. At last, she stumbled out of it entirely, Timothy following a second later.

"Let's not repeat that," Edmund suggested irately.

"Oh, I thought we could use the exercise," Peter said. "Let's go back and do it again." He raised an eyebrow. Timothy chuckled, and suddenly Lucy saw something rapidly approaching the edge of the bushes, something larger than what had been biting at their boots…

"Look out!" she called, and just in time – everyone jumped, not knowing who she was speaking to, and in the space where Timothy had just been standing, there was suddenly another of the strange, rodent-like creatures, only this was easily three times the size. It had launched itself straight at their ally, but when its target suddenly moved, it fell sprawled on the ground. Quickly scrambling to its feet, it made a scampering bee-line towards Peter, who drew his sword but seemed unwilling to stab at his own feet. It jumped, claws outstretched, heading for the unprotected area between his boots and mail shirt, flew through the air –

- and fell limp to the ground, skewered on the end of the throwing knife Edmund had produced earlier.

"Excellent throw," Timothy said.

"Thanks," Edmund replied, bending over and pulling his weapon from the dying creature. It writhed it agony. Lucy, feeling pity for the poor thing, drew her own weapon and quickly cut its head off so it wouldn't have to suffer. Ed gave her a small smile.

"You could have hit my knees!" Peter said, aghast.

"What, you don't trust me?"

"Well I've never seen you throw a knife before, Edmund, all I knew was that you were chucking cutlery at my appendages!"

"Well, you're alive, so stop griping," Edmund said, wiping his dagger on the thin grass and returning it to its hiding place on his belt. Lucy shrugged when Peter looked to her for support. When it became apparent that the rest of the party was moving on, Peter sighed hopelessly, shaking his head, sheathed his sword, and followed them into the beginning of the wood. As the shadows fell over her face, Lucy felt herself grow a bit more uncertain.

"What do you think is in there, Ed?" she whispered, hushed by the oppressive silence of the wood.

"That's what we're going to find out."


	21. Twenty One

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. I also don't own a computer anymore. Expect delays.

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The biggest difference between the infested brush fields and the forest was the light – the foliage was so thick overhead that it was as though Lucy and her companions had stepped into a tunnel. The trees themselves were mammoth, with huge, thick trunks that two Lucys put together couldn't have encircled with their arms. The roots were gnarled, twisting through the moist mix of dead leaves, rotting branches and other less savory things that made up the forest floor. The smell of moss and mildew hung heavily over it all.

"Keep both eyes open," Peter advised, ahead of the rest a few yards. "It's a bit uneven."

"We hadn't noticed," said Edmund dryly. Peter ignored him.

Lucy picked her way through the mess, casting a glance backwards – where the abrupt start of the wood started, the light from the outside world poured in and made the leaves in the area glow an ethereal green. Even knowing what lay back there, Lucy thought it had a much more pleasant feel. After all, the rat-like things had been obnoxious, but they hadn't managed much besides pinching her feet a few times, and her boots could handle it; good Narnian leather had survived worse ordeals.

When her brief daydreams subsided, she became aware that it was enormously silent. Aside from the rustle and clank of the armed travelers, there seemed no sign of life at all, and yet the wood felt as if it were brimming with some anxious feeling, as if it was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Lucy didn't look forward to whatever that might be. It was a bit like the Wood Between the Worlds, which had also been quite still, but that had been a peaceful sort of quiet – this was like the calm before storm, that fearful pause that always comes just when a person realizes she's tripped but hasn't quite yet started her fall. Eager to break the feeling, Lucy spoke up.

"So, Timothy," she said, making her brothers jump. From behind her, she heard him give a noise of acknowledgement. "What else do you remember about your life before that other world?" She vaguely thought that it could use a name.

"A bit more every hour," he said. There was no resonance for their voices, the acoustic deadening their tone as if commanding them to be quiet in a disapproving, silent sort of way. "It was a nice place, my first world. The air was clean and it was peaceful. I think I was a farmer, for a time, and then a soldier. The later memories are a bit fuzzy, see and I can't quite seem to…"

"Shh!" Edmund said suddenly, holding up his hand. The group fell silent and motionless. A tense moment of silence passed. After a minute he shook his head a touch embarrassedly and motioned for them to carry on, muttering "must have imagined it."

"Right then," said Timothy, pushing a hanging vine out of his path with his drawn sword. "So, er."

"The later memories?" Lucy offered.

"Yes, right, the farther along I get the harder it is to remember. I remember growing up as a boy, in the south, working in the fields. It was a good life, hard work but well worth it, and I…mmph!"

Lucy turned around in alarm and tripped over a root on the ground; she tipped over backwards and landed hard upon her backside with a surprised "oof!" Timothy, she saw, had simply run into another vine while speaking, and he spat on the ground disgustedly after he had disentangled it from his teeth. Laughing gaily, Lucy took the hand Edmund had offered her and stood back up, dusting herself off. Her laughter did much to ease the tension of the forest silence. Timothy cracked a grin and even Edmund rolled his eyes affectionately.

"Peter, slow down," Lucy called to her eldest brother, who was quite a ways ahead. "You're much too fast for us."

"We _are _in a dreadful hurry, in case you had forgotten," he reminded her in a yell and without turning around. Hacking apart a revoltingly green, thorny bramble bush that was blocking his path of choice, he did not slow his pace remotely.

With a small frown, Lucy and company took after him, Edmund determinedly keeping his own pace while Lucy and Timothy made a bit of an effort to catch up.

"If something eats you because you were so far ahead, I won't say a thing in your defense," said Edmund, though it was obvious it was for the benefit of his sister, and she gave him the laugh he'd been seeking. Peter did not respond, as far as she could see, though he might have rolled his eyes.

They continued on until the wood grew quite dark around them, not because night was coming but because they were drawing further away from the city and further towards the deeper part of the wood. It was beginning to get oppressively humid, moisture hanging in the air like a dank curtain, and the heat wasn't anything to be trifled with either, but the quartet kept on stoically, each bearing in mind the goal of their quest.

"This isn't so bad," Lucy said after a good half hour of hard travel. "Why, those rat things have been the worst so far, and they weren't so terrible, were they?"

"Well, be on your guard," Timothy said. "I agree, young miss, but I don't like the feel of this place. It doesn't want us here."

"I hate to be a pessimist, Lu, but I agree," said Edmund, helping her over a particularly tall, thick root.

"And it's terrible luck to think a place isn't dangerous after only being there an hour," Peter called back. He was a blue and grey blot through the trees, refusing to compromise his speed. Lucy wondered at his hearing.

"I suppose we ought to knock on wood or something," she said, frowning. She reached down to tap a root, and found it was covered in some thick, clear slime. With an appalled exclamation, she hurriedly wiped it off on her dress, where it protruded under the mail skirt.

"That wasn't the brightest thing you've ever done," said Edmund lightly. She glared and marched on.


	22. Twenty Two

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. I only suffer from withdrawl when I cannot visit them through the internet.

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Half an hour later, Lucy found that the hand with which she'd touched the root was somewhat swollen, stinging like nettles, and covered in a greenish rash. She kept it wrapped in her overshirt, as her dress lay beneath her armor. As of yet, she hadn't shown it to anyone, as they'd probably make a fuss and delay the group, and it wasn't so bad (she also didn't want Edmund to poke fun at her again, but she pretended that wasn't the reason). And so they trekked on through the wood, encountering far more nuisances than actual dangers, and even those dangers were easily avoided – the plant with fangs wasn't exactly inconspicuous.

"Peter!" Lucy called again, some time later. He had slowed his pace to theirs, at least, but he'd done it when he was already far ahead and so they were simply running parallel journeys with the High King a good two minutes' travel away from them.

"Yes, Lu?" he yelled back, clearing the path ahead with a sweep of his sword.

"Why are you so frightfully far ahead of us?"

"Why are you lot so frightfully far behind me?"

Lucy frowned, lifting her leg high to step over a particularly nasty root. She noticed now that her boots were covered in the same clear slime that she'd touched earlier; it should have been obvious, since she had stumbled over quite a few tree roots, which seemed to produce it. She was more careful not to trip now, as she didn't fancy having a green, splotchy face.

They traveled on for a long while without speaking. Lucy would have liked to say the only sound was the wet smush of the disgusting, rotting mess beneath their boots, but unfortunately it was not – the further into the forest they trooped, the more strange noises there were. Some were high chirping noises, rather like regular birds, except the three-note pattern ended with a shriek that could have curdled milk. There was another, more frequent noise, a distant rustling, things moving around them as they journeyed. And once, there was a terrible low bellow that shook leaves from the trees around them, a gut-wrenching cry of anger and pain. Lucy was not keen to meet whatever had produced it.

"You holding up all right, Lucy?" Edmund asked at last, following the path Peter had cleared for them. She nodded, though she was getting rather tired. Walking for several hours was one thing, but walking over quite uneven ground and constantly ducking to avoid the overhanging greenery made her legs and back rather sore. Edmund gave her a small smile. "You put up with a lot, for a girl."

"Are you suggesting girls are, in any way, less tolerant of circumstantial difficulties?" she asked challengingly.

"Of course not," he said smoothly, flashing her a grin and holding up a thick vine so she could walk under without bending. She dipped a curtsy.

"My thanks, good King Edmund," she said regally. Timothy chuckled.

"I used to do that, as well," he said fondly. Confused, Lucy offered him a puzzled smile.

"Do what?" she asked.

"Oh, my sisters and I, we'd pretend to be kings and queens," he said, smiling. "I remember that clearly."

"Actually, we're not pretending," Lucy said with a bright smile. "In our world, we really _are _kings and queens, see. Peter's the High King, and Ed and Su and I are all royalty also. We live in a grand old castle on the eastern shore."

"Of course you do," Timothy said obligingly.

"You don't believe us," said Edmund. He shrugged, helping Lucy to hop over a branch the size of a log on the ground. "That's all right. I wouldn't believe us either."

"Oh, but it's true," Lucy insisted. She drew her dagger and briefly flashed it in the dim light, showing Timothy the lovely craftsmanship, the gold and the red leather. "See, Father Christmas gave this to me, and this flask here – " – she patted her cordial where it hung from her belt – " – it cures any injury. Susan got her bow and arrow, and her horn (those are at home), and Peter his sword and shield. That was almost six years ago, now. My, how the time has passed!"

"And you?" Timothy asked to Edmund, a mildly amused note in his voice. It was clear he was only asking to be polite. "Did you not receive a present from Father Christmas?"

"No, I didn't," Edmund said with a meaningless smile. His eyes glimmered darkly. "I was paying for my own foolishness at the time. But you needn't humor us. I know Father Christmas is but a myth in most other worlds."

"I have my doubts," Timothy said honestly. "But as for Father Christmas, that I can believe. He came to my father's farm every year to bring us gifts. I just question what sort of people would be led by…well, children. You say this took place six years ago? Your brother would have been how old? Scarcely fifteen, I should think."

"It doesn't matter," Edmund said. "You don't have to believe us."

"Even if it _is _true," Lucy put in. She didn't feel like a child. She was fourteen – she had sailed a ship, fought battles, rescued her siblings, saved a country, and strangers still couldn't believe she was a queen. It was a little irritating.

"Whatever makes you happy," Timothy said.

"You know, we could show you," said Lucy a little crossly. "After we rescue Susan – "

" – and the poor souls in that dark world," he put in, reminding them of their promise.

"Yes, and that," she continued. "We could take you back to our world and show you our palace, and the court, and our country. Then you'd believe us."

"I'm certain I would," he said, beginning to sound less amused with the subject.

"We'll do it," Lucy decided. "You could even stay for a little while. It's not as if we don't have room."

"True," Edmund said, though he didn't sound particularly enthused.

"We could even visit each other regularly with the rings," Lucy said, smiling. She reached into her pack and pulled out one glove, then started towards her pocket (Edmund made a move to stop her but it was too late and he tried to pretend nothing had happened) and withdrew the two rings, holding them out for Timothy to see but cupping them carefully so she wouldn't drop them. They glistened brightly, even in the bad light.

"Those are magic, aren't they?" Timothy asked curiously. He didn't reach out to touch one, having already seen them in use before and been victim to the yellow ring's trick once already. Lucy nodded as she walked, skirting around a pile of dead leaves.

"Yes, the yellow ones take you to that wood, and the green ones will let you enter a new world," she said. Timothy stared intently at them for a moment.

"And you don't need…any special words, or anything? They're magic in themselves?"

Edmund's eyes flashed with suspicion. Lucy ignored him. He never seemed to trust anyone who wasn't born in Narnia or whose surname wasn't Pevensie.

"Yes," she said. "Quite simple. We were given them so we could rescue our sister."

"Fascinating," he murmured. She smiled and slipped them back into the pouch, taking off her glove and stashing it back into her satchel.

"Edmund has the other two," she said. "There are four. Peter insisted we take them. He can be a bit overprotective sometimes, you know, and he never thinks about himself."

"Speaking of which," Edmund said, lifting his eyes to look ahead through the trees.

"Oh, dear," said Lucy, putting a hand to her mouth.

"He's gone and done it again," Edmund growled, before he took off, scrambling over fallen logs and gnarly roots in his haste. Lucy and Timothy followed suit a moment later, though Lu took a split second to put on her gloves so she knew she could touch the ground without worry. And then the three of them were off, for where Peter had been walking before their conversation, there was now only a strip of blue cloth.


	23. Twenty Three

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. I have a great deal of fun with them, though. :)

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"He's been acting queerly all day," Lucy commented despairingly, panting as they scrambled through the forest in search of their brother.

"I wonder what's eating him," said Timothy, pausing to give Lucy a leg up over a fallen tree half as tall as she was. Edmund, already ahead, smashed a thick branch aside with the flat of his sword.

"Whatever it is, I hope it has sharp teeth," he called back irately. If Lucy hadn't been so out of breath and worried, she would have laughed. She turned her head back to see how Timothy was getting along and tripped over a tree root, crashing into Edmund, who had apparently stopped in front of her. Thankfully, he was steadier on his feet than her and managed to grab her under the arms before she hit the ground, hoisting her back on her feet and bending over to pick up the scrap of blue cloth that had undoubtedly come from Peter's tunic.

"He didn't cut it," Edmund said, examining the small strip of fabric, turning it over in his gloved hands. "It was ripped. Wasn't by a plant; there's nothing that could've caught it around here."

"Peter!" Lucy shouted into the woods, her hands cupped around her mouth. "Peter, where are – "

- Edmund clapped a hand over her mouth.

"If something's taken him, let's not draw its attention," he said in a low voice, removing his hand. "Sorry, Lu."

Timothy approached behind them, sword drawn and ready, a question in his eyes. Edmund shook his head warningly, gaze trained on the ground, following something Lucy couldn't see, a pattern in the rot, perhaps? He began to move, his footwork careful, skirting around something he still watched. She stayed in place. She didn't want to disturb whatever it was he was looking at.

But it was fortunate she was watching her brother so intently, because she saw the claws before he did and threw herself at him, knocking him to the forest floor with a shout. The creature whooshed over their heads, screeching manically as its little prickly hands missed their prey.

"What in the name of…" Timothy began, but he was cut off as another one leapt from a tree on their right, swooping straight towards him; he held up his sword in self defense and the creature glanced off the flat of his blade, landing in a dazed heap beside Lucy and Edmund, who were struggling to regain their footing on the slimy ground. Lucy jerked her head back fearfully as it began to scrabble at the roots, trying to lift itself back up – it was one of the ugliest things she'd ever seen, including the strange rats in the field.

Its face resembled a monkey, to some extent, though its eyes were slitted like a cat's and its nose was turned up grotesquely, its one long, narrow nostril extending most of the length of its face. Its teeth, when it bared them at her horrified gaze, were all dangerously sharp and an awful shade of yellow. The rest of its body was hard to describe; the limbs itself were again like a monkey's, though with long claws at the end of each, and the fur not soft-looking but bristly and greenish grey. It was about a foot long. Stretched between the fore and hind legs were flaps of translucent skin, now crumpled as the creature was on the ground, but when it had been on the attack, in the air, they had served as a sort of wings, though no doubt they couldn't support the creature's weight. Lucy had once seen a picture of a flying squirrel – this resembled it, though it looked less cute and more lethal.

"Lu!" Edmund called – in her distraction, she had stopped trying to rise, her gloved hands now covered in slime, but he had managed it already and now reached down to pull her back up one-handedly. Her feet slipped around for a moment before she found her footing and he let go, the three of them forming a hurried triangle and looking up into the trees warily.

"Was that it?" Timothy asked worriedly. Lucy drew her dagger.

"I doubt it," Edmund replied.

As if in answer to his words, two more of the Void-monkeys, as Lucy had mentally named them, launched themselves at the travelers. Two swords flashed through the air; two heads dropped to the ground, severed from their bodies, and Lucy retched. She dealt the one on the floor a flying kick that dropped it several yards away, and it lay there, hissing furiously.

"For a boy, you're not bad with a sword," said Timothy.

"Excuse you," said Edmund.

"No offense meant."

Another shriek, and another three attackers. This time, Ed and Timothy alone weren't enough to catch them quickly enough, and Lucy thrust her dagger forward blindly. Something warm and sticky covered her hands, and when she looked up, one of the animals was impaled upon her weapon, its eyes glazing over as it gurgled its last of life and its blood seeped out over the tang and hilt. Swallowing her nausea, Lucy flicked her wrist and the carcass went spinning off into the bushes.

"Ow!" Edmund cried suddenly, and a furious swipe of his sword sent his foe hurtling away to smack into the broad trunk of a tree. "The little bugger bit me!"

"Are you all right?" Lucy asked concernedly, peering over his shoulder to see the damage. A set of small teethmarks decorated Edmund's sword-arm sleeve, just over his elbow, and a bit of blood was leaking out.

"I'll be fine," he said, grimacing and applying pressure with his free arm.

"Let's not linger," Timothy advised, glancing up at the trees, where more pink eyes were gleaming hungrily.

The three of them took off again, keeping their weapons out, jumping over anything in their path and barely managing to keep upright. Vines slapped past Lucy's face, though she kept half-bent to prevent the greater part of it. So quickly and recklessly were they fleeing that they didn't look to see what was ahead, and abruptly they burst forth into an entirely peaceful clearing, unremarkable but for the giant pit in the center. Casting a glance backwards, the travelers cautiously headed towards it. They were almost to the edge of it when something exploded up before them, something enormous, brown and hairy, something with too many legs and not enough eyes and a set of teeth that looked as though they could crunch a Calormene galleon in half.

"Oh sweet Aslan," Edmund said in one breath, craning his neck to look up at it. It couldn't be a spider – it had no eyes, and it had ten, not eight legs, ten disgusting, spindly, skittery legs that twitched before them, each as thick as a person's, though easily five times as long. Timothy glanced at Edmund, his face quite white, as though Edmund had said something fearsome.

"Plan of action, O King?" he asked, almost challengingly.

"Can't run," Edmund said in a low voice. The thing seemed to be waiting for them to make a move.

"Why not?" Lucy whispered. And at Edmund's tiny gesture, she saw what she hadn't before: at the bottom of the great pit, seemingly unconscious and quite green, was Peter.


	24. Twenty Four

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. I'm really sorry this took so long - I uploaded it a week ago, but it never showed up! It was swallowed in the move, I suppose. In any case, it looks like I was lazy but I promise I wasn't. :)

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"Now really, this is just _mad_," Timothy said vehemently, though his sword was drawn and he didn't risk actually looking at Edmund, to whom he was obviously speaking.

"Feel free to try and fend for yourself," Edmund spat back, eyes locked on the monster looming above them. "The forest is any direction you please."

"You intend to fight, then," the elder man said disbelievingly. The spider-like creature's forward extremities twitched, like it was smelling something. Lucy swallowed hard, her dagger in her hand, though she didn't see what good it would do now. Edmund had unbuckled his shield from his back and it was in his hand, now, his eyes scanning over their enemy. Practically seeing the cogs turning behind his eyes, Lucy realized he was sizing it up, trying to figure out what to do.

"Not necessarily," he said, in response to Timothy's statement. "I intend to rescue my brother. I don't intend to fight if I don't have to."

"And how would you accompli – " The monster lurched forward clumsily but at an alarming rate; its jaws snapped at the air Edmund had occupied only a second before. Lucy expected her brother to take advantage of its momentary confusion and stab it, but he did not. Perhaps he was afraid of angering it. It retracted its great head slowly, looming above them once more, and suddenly Edmund snapped into action and began to spew orders.

"Lu," he said quickly. "Run around while we distract it, see if you can't get Peter to wake somehow. Throw things at him. If he wakes up, both of you look for ways to get out of that pit. If he doesn't, look for a way in and try to figure out what's wrong with him. He might be poisoned. Timothy – you and I are going to try and take this thing down a few pegs. Keep on your feet, don't try to kill it, just see if we can't get enough of its legs clipped that it…"

A hideous squeal erupted from the creature and it lunged again, this time towards Timothy, whose impending protest was cut off as he was bowled over. The great jaws gaped wide, swooping towards him as he struggled to get to his feet, and for a terrible second, Lucy was sure he was going to be swallowed whole, but something dark flashed through the air towards the monster and it reared back with a screech, one spindly limb swinging wildly towards its source. Edmund ducked and it whooshed over him.

"Go!" he shouted to his sister. Lucy didn't stop to question him but took off, realizing he'd thrown the knife he'd been carrying. She skirted around the edge of the pit to more monstrous squeals and a few, shouted, less-than-savory words from her brother and his ally.

The great trench was deep, though not so deep that it would kill a person to jump into it. It seemed to be simply a great hole in the dirt and grass of the forest. It was wide enough that when Lucy came to stand approximately above where Peter, she was easily thirty feet from the combat. The thing was flailing now, its limbs flying every which way as it tried to bring down its attackers. She saw Timothy swing his sword forcefully and the tip of one of its legs went flying, red globs of sticky blood erupting from the end. Screeching in fury, the creature renewed its efforts, keeping its wounded leg off the ground.

Turning her attention to the task at hand, Lucy quickly looked around for something to throw. Thankfully, there was a trail of rocks and sticks and trampled grass nearby, where she assumed the monster had dragged her brother. She picked up a short stick and hurled it down. Though she'd never had much of a good arm, her aim was good and throwing down was easier anyway – it bounced off Peter's shoulder. Unfortunately, the leather shoulder-plates of his armor caused it to glance off harmlessly, and she tried again, this time aiming for his head since it was the biggest target of the unguarded parts of his body.

"Peter!" she yelled, cupping her hands over her mouth. He remained green and still.

Gritting her teeth, Lucy bent to pick up a small rock and threw it. It hit Peter square on the temple, and his head lolled to one side slightly, a red mark where the rock had struck, but still he did not waken, though for an instant Lucy thought his lips had moved slightly. A pained yell came from the fighters across the pit; her head jerked up in time to see the monster bearing down upon Edmund, but a second later Timothy had hurled himself between the two. The hairy bulk of the spider-like creature blocked her view from this point and she turned back to Peter with a fresh sense of urgency.

"In Aslan's name, wake _up_!" she pleaded, picking up a slightly heavier rock and chucking it down at him. It struck his shoulder again, bouncing off to land in the loose dirt, and still he did not move. Now seriously worried, Lucy began to wonder if perhaps they'd been too late. But there was only one way to find out. The sides of the pit sloped slightly inward, enough that she couldn't jump cleanly (besides, it was about twelve feet deep; she would break her legs) but not so much that she could walk or slide down. The dirt was more firmly packed towards the bottom than the top.

Looking around quickly, Lucy picked up a stick about half as wide as her wrist, gripping it in her left hand and drawing her dagger with her right. She leaned over the edge of the pit and thrust them both into the side, moving around until she found a place where they wouldn't slide in as easily. Then she turned herself around and slid her feet backwards until she was gripping the grass at the top, her lower body dangling over the edge. Taking a deep breath, she let go of the grass with one hand and quickly grasped her dagger, then let go with the other hand and held onto the stick, her feet brushing against the edge of the pit and her hands upon her makeshift handholds.

When her heart had slowed a bit, Lucy gathered her courage and made her next move. She swiftly tugged her dagger from its place and swung it down, burying it to the hilt in slightly firmer dirt about a foot below. Then she did the same with the stick, and slowly began to make her way down the face of the pit. The third time she tried to move the stick, it struck a rock instead of dirt and glanced off, and for a terrifying moment she was left dangling by one arm until she finally managed to jam it into the hard earth and breathe again.

When her boots were four feet from the ground, she withdrew her dagger and dropped, leaving the stick embedded ten feet in the air as she dropped down to the bottom. She stumbled a bit on the uneven ground but quickly regained her footing and looked around for Peter. He sat slumped against the side, his face pale and greenish, but from this proximity she could see the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. She put a hand on his face – it was boiling hot, but the more immediate reaction was that his eyes flew open and his chest began to heave fitfully, as if he was having trouble breathing.

"Peter, it's me," Lucy said quickly, not sure why that made a difference, but it seemed the right thing to say. His wide eyes rolled over to stare at her face, but his breathing remained a struggle. Unsure of what to do, she stroked the hair back from his face like Susan did for her sometimes when she was having trouble calming down. "It's okay, it's okay."

"Lucy!" Edmund's voice came, a hoarse bellow. She looked sideways –

- and something slammed into her side, sweeping her sideways and slamming her against the pit wall. She felt herself cry out but no sound came, only a hollow rush of air as it was driven forcefully from her lungs. The loose earth vibrated slightly at the pounding of many feet, and then the monster was scrabbling towards them both, rushing in front of Peter and screaming a hissing shriek at Lucy. She'd dropped her dagger when she'd approached Peter. She had nothing left with which to defend itself. And though she saw Edmund and Timothy rushing along the top of the pit, they were too far away; they wouldn't reach her in time, she knew.

Swallowing hard, Lucy reached for a stone and stared into the face of her inevitable doom.


	25. Twenty Five

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. I don't even own a copy of Prince Caspian with all the pages, for the love of trout.

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The monster's terrible jaws gaped towards her, globs of saliva dripping from its repulsive fangs. Its breath could have melted the gates of Cair Paravel. Lucy stood almost beneath it, so large it was; it made no move towards her, in fact it was entirely motionless except the occasional slight twitch of its three partially severed legs and a small heaving motion that she guessed must be its breathing. Thick blood oozed from its severed leg-tips. It was trying to keep her from getting at Peter, trying to keep her from stealing its prey, for something so large was obviously happy to have found something bigger than the Void monkeys to eat. For his part, Peter only half-slumped against the pit wall, his chest jerking with effort as he tried to breathe properly, his blue eyes wide.

"Hold on!" Edmund yelled, still racing along the side, nearing them now. But at his voice, the spider-like creature's head whirled around and it hissed, spraying Lucy with spittle that burned her skin like hot wax, leaving small, red marks festering on her face and hands. She cried out, but had no time to think before it was lurching towards her. With a shout of defiance, Lucy hurled the rock she held straight into its open mouth, clipping one of its fangs. It didn't even notice.

She ducked as fast as she could; the head of the creature rushed over her and smacked into the pit wall with a squeal of anger. Falling onto her hands and knees, Lucy crawled quickly beneath it, avoiding the flailing legs that skittered as it turned around, but she managed to reach Peter again and pick up her dagger.

"Lucy!" Edmund called again. He was almost directly above her, panting and holding his sword in one hand. He seemed to have lost his shield. The monster was trying to regain its bearings, legs skittering on the increasingly bloody ground, but Lucy didn't give it time. She sheathed her dagger and swiftly knelt to draw Rhindon from Peter's belt.

"Lu," he choked. It was the first thing he'd managed to say. She knew he was telling her not to be daft, to run, probably to leave him, because he was just that…well, _Peterly, _Lucy couldn't help but think. But she hadn't done it before and she certainly wasn't about to do it now.

Rushing forward, Lucy took a swing at one of the monster's legs, one which had already found a steady footing. She couldn't wield Peter's sword very well, and had to do it with both hands, but it certainly did something; the blade sank about two inches into the monster's hairy flesh and blood spurted forth, coloring the sword-tip and a few flecks landing on Lucy's wrists. She wretched, but quickly pulled the blade out as the wounded leg flailed to the side, half disconnected.

"Careful, now!" Timothy shouted to her.

"Watch out!" Edmund yelled. This, thought Lucy, was rather pointless.

Her heart pounding, Lucy held Rhindon in front of her as steadily as she could. The monster lunged at her again, but this time, she knew if she let it go over her head, it would probably hit Peter. So instead she thrust the sword forward with all her might. There was a rush of rancid, hot air, then suddenly something had ripped down her right arm and there was a warm heat all around it, and something oozing across it, and it was the most disgusting feeling Lucy had ever felt. A sound exploded in her ears, a most awful, blood-curdling shriek of pain that she swore almost burst her head, and when she opened her eyes she realized what had happened.

The monster's jaws had been gaping wide when she'd held out the sword. Its own momentum had carried it forward, and as a result the bottom of its mouth had been pierced to the hilt, one fang scraping deeply down Lucy's arm in the process. Now, she stood with both arms clasped to the hilt of a sword that was buried in the mouth of a monster – a monster that was quite alive and quite furious. She pulled as hard as she could. Rhindon stayed where it was. Suddenly, the monster's jaw jerked up and she was lifted bodily off her feet, and surely her arms would have been crushed between the two sets of fangs had she not thought so incredibly quickly.

Susan would have told her that the logical thing to do was to let go of the sword. But Lucy knew that if she did, not only would they lose Rhindon, but the fang that was still a half-inch deep in her arm would have slid across her right wrist, and she probably would have died from the blood loss within moments. Instead, she quickly scrambled up so that her feet were on its repulsive, rubbery lip, and she used this to brace herself and yank the sword free. The sudden release sent her tumbling backwards, landing in a bloodied, saliva-drenched heap beside her oldest brother, his thoroughly bloody sword still grasped in both her hands.

It charged towards her again, but she heard Edmund let out a cry of "Narnia!" and when she opened her eyes, he was clinging to his sword, which he'd plunged deeply into the monster's back, seemingly having leaped off the edge of the pit. It hissed and shrieked and flailed; he swung helplessly on his sword until he managed to do the same thing Lucy had done and pulled it free. He tumbled down into the pit, but bent his knees on the impact and rolled, minimizing the damage.

The spider-like creature wasn't simply protecting its prey now. It was in danger. Almost half its legs were inoperative, and it seemed unused to balancing on only six; it lurched to each side woozily, its good legs buckling under what seemed to be too much weight.

"Lu!" Edmund called to her; they were separated by the bulk of the creature but they could see each other through its hairy legs. "I think just two more ought to do it! Can you handle it?"

Lucy scrambled onto her knees, her breathing harried; she nodded, though she wasn't sure of her answer, and drew her dagger with her left hand. Her right screamed in pain, blood flowing freely and staining her dress. Her armor only covered her upper arms, as extending it past the elbow would have restricted her movement, and she never wore gauntlets.

"On three!" yelled Edmund, glancing above him. Timothy shrugged helplessly and Edmund gritted his teeth. "One, two…"

But the monster didn't let him finish; it staggered towards him, screaming, sightlessly trying to find him from his voice. He swung his sword as hard as he could, but missed, and his own strength send him stumbling forwards. Lucy rushed to his aid, driving her dagger as deeply into the nearest leg as possible. It did little but distract the monster, which was her aim anyway, and this time, Edmund managed to score a good hit and another leg lifted into the air as blood rained down.

Lucy grasped her dagger tightly. Edmund was in a bad place, trapped between the pit wall and the monster's bulk, and it was nearing him at an alarming rate. But at the last second, something silver zipped through the air and the monster reeled back, a fresh screech ringing out as Lucy caught sight of the hilt of Timothy's sword protruding from the top of its head, just above its mouth. He had thrown it with an amazing amount of strength and impressive accuracy. Edmund took the opportunity to rush forward, aiming for what they guessed would be the last blow needed to fell the monster, but suddenly one of the crippled legs whooshed into his path, tripping him and sending him flying to crash into the opposite pit wall painfully. He slid down, clutching his leg in agony, and Lucy saw that his own sword had been forced through his armor and into his thigh when he'd hit the wall.

The monster turned to her. Lucy drew herself up, true fear finally coursing through her, and she realized that if they died here, there was no one to rule Narnia, no one to bring back Susan, no one to prevent what would inevitably happen to her on her wedding night.

With an angry cry, Lucy flew forward and sliced viciously at a leg with her dagger, but it barely did anything, and suddenly she found herself pinned to the dirt wall with the same leg, the hairs brushing her chin as the creature snarled in triumph and lowered its head towards her. She closed her eyes, her last breath full of rotting breath and the stench of blood…

…and the leg pinning her fell away, the end of it landing in the dirt at her feet. The monster wailed. One remaining leg made an awful _crack_ sound, then another followed, and the last two were ear-splitting as the thing came crashing down, slamming into the ground and shaking the earth all around them. Helpless, it snapped his jaws desperately, its legs twitching towards them, but weakly. Lucy opened her eyes.

Her oldest brother dropped his bloody sword, his hands shaking visibly and his eyes rolling back into his head as he pitched forward into her arms, unconscious.


	26. Twenty Six

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. Sorry for the wait on this - I've been really sick this week. Even had a fever on my birthday, ick.

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"Lucy!" Timothy called. Staggering backwards under Peter's sudden weight, she craned her neck up to look at him. There was an open gash on his forehead, and his mail was ripped in places, but he seemed all right otherwise. "That thing isn't dead. Be careful."

She looked at the monster, which was still twitching feebly on the ground. Six of its ten legs (four on one side, two on the other) were bleeding and broken off, and the remaining four had snapped under the weight of its bulky body. But a few of the severed ones still made weak attempts to lash out at her. Lucy carefully laid Peter on the ground, reasoning that if she didn't make the area safe, both she and her brothers would be in danger. Then she drew her dagger.

Across the pit, separated from Lucy and Peter by the dying creature, Edmund had pulled his sword out of his own leg and was leaning against the wall, his chest heaving with his heavy breathing. The wound in his thigh was gaping wide, blood coursing down it and probably pooling in his boots. His eyes were closed with the effort of remaining conscious, and Lucy knew he needed tending to immediately. She checked Peter's pulse quickly – it was faint, but there, so she hurriedly began the short but treacherous journey to the younger king's side.

She was halfway there (and a fair amount closer to the monster) when a leg made a real swipe at her, swinging towards her at an alarming rate even as the creature squealed in pain.

"Watch out!" Timothy yelled rather unnecessarily. Lucy ducked, and it swung over her, splattering her face with a few globs of sticky crimson monster-blood. It was disgusting. She wiped it off, probably leaving smudges all over, and stepped over another fallen leg. In a few moments she was at Edmund's side, sheathing her dagger and instead procuring her cordial, which she uncorked and held to his lips. Even Edmund wasn't stubborn enough to deny what would save his life, so he accepted the carefully poured droplet and swallowed.

The blood slowed, then stopped, and he opened his eyes. Gingerly lowering his injured leg to the ground, he put some experimental weight on it, and did not flinch. He let out a long breath, as if he had been holding it since he'd been hit (perhaps he had, thought Lucy), then turned and put a hand on her shoulder gratefully. Keeping in character, his next words were of course not of his own injury, but of…

"Peter?" he asked, reaching to pick up and wipe his sword.

"Come on," she replied. Timothy was still hovering on the edge of the pit, apparently unsure as to what he should do. His sword was buried in the monster's head, so his options were rather limited. Lucy and Edmund picked their way across the leg-strewn landscape without incident, and there Lucy administered the cordial to her eldest brother, who shuddered and breathed a little easier, though he did not wake up (even when Edmund shook him).

"Well, blast," Edmund muttered crossly. He was still rather faint, Lucy noticed, so she told him to sit down, and for once, he obeyed. Then she looked around for a way out.

Peter's unconsciousness made everything much less feasible. Neither Lucy nor Edmund was strong enough to carry him, and no side of the pit had a gentle enough slope to let them drag him. In the end, with Timothy's guidance, they agreed to first figure out a way to get the two youngest Pevensies out, then they and Timothy would work to help Peter. Perhaps he would be awake by then, anyway.

The safest and easiest way to get out, since there were no ropes about, was almost the same way she had gotten down, only with less urgency and therefore more caution. Lucy took her dagger and hacked out crude hand holds in the side of the pit, usually holding on with one hand as she carved out the next bit, until she had reached the top and Timothy hoisted her up by the armpits. Predictably, Edmund would not leave his brother's side, especially since the creature was still alive. Its sightless face was turned towards them, its jaws lazily opening and closing as frothy saliva and blood dripped from its fangs. It was obviously dying; Lucy almost pitied it.

"We can't waste any more time," Timothy said, throwing up his hands. "You want to rescue your sister. I want to rescue my people. We're not going to do it by sitting here and waiting. We need to start thinking."

"Give me another minute," Edmund said tiredly. "I'm feeling a little better, then I can carry him…"

"…no," Lucy said sternly. "You can't. And you know it."

Edmund slumped back against the pit wall dejectedly.

"We need a rope," Timothy grumbled.

"We're in a forest," said Edmund, a biting edge to his tone. "In case you hadn't noticed."

"Maybe we could use a vine?" Lucy suggested.

"It will turn out to be a snake."

"Oh, will you quit being so…"

"Shut up," Peter grumbled. Edmund stumbled over his own feet and fell over. Timothy blinked. Lucy hurried to the edge of the pit and craned her head down, looking over her brother. He was still sitting where Edmund had propped him up against the pit wall, and he hadn't moved even to pick up his sword, which lay beside him, but he was awake.

"Oh, Peter, how are you feeling?" she asked concernedly.

"Well I can't move, if that's what you're asking," he said casually. Edmund, recovering quickly from his misstep, punched his brother's armored shoulder hard.

"You great bloody lump!" he lectured. "You go walking ages and ages ahead of us and get taken by some giant…giant…thing, and we have to come and rescue you, and…"

"…why can't you move?" Lucy called, interrupting Edmund (who continued anyway).

"I'm numb," Peter explained. "But it was the same way when I woke up earlier. Only then I couldn't feel anything but a sort of burning sensation. Now that's gone. I just can't feel anything below shoulder level."

"You got up before," she pointed out. "Do you think that will happen again? Thank you, by the way."

"Yes, I can feel more and more the longer I'm awake," he answered. Edmund, finished with his rant, picked up Rhindon and sheathed it for his brother. "Give me another five minutes and I'll bet I can get up."

"Don't push yourself," she said worriedly. He nodded.

"If you don't mind," said Timothy, who'd remained silent until now. "I really don't fancy wandering through this wood without a weapon. Is there any way one of you down there could pick it up for me?"

Lucy glanced at the creature, where Timothy's sword was buried to the hilt in its head. She didn't fancy collecting it.

"I'll get it," Edmund said.

"Don't be stupid," Peter said curtly.

"You're one to talk."

Edmund strode forward, dodging the limbs and stepping around so that the jaws were facing away from him. Still faintly alive, the creature tried to roll its head towards him, but didn't find the strength, and he was left looking at the back of its hairy body. Lucy held her breath as he droved his sword into its side, receiving more gore in return, and stepped up onto the blade. His balance was excellent – Edmund had always been a more devious fighter than Peter, and so had picked up a few nifty tricks. Reaching up, he managed to get his fingertips on the edge of Timothy's sword. Thankfully, the blood of the creature acted as a lubricant and allowed him to pull it out smoothly. But in the process of withdrawing it, he must have hit something rather painful, because the huge, hairy body jerked suddenly, and his footing slipped.

Fortunately, dirt makes a good cushion and Edmund's landing was rather padded. He pulled out his own sword, wiped both weapons on the ground (and brazenly did not move more than a few feet away from the monster), and picked his way across the bottom of the pit back to his brother's side.

"I can feel my hips," Peter announced. Edmund didn't even dignify it with a reply. Lucy, glad that he'd made progress, told him that was wonderful, and Timothy looked, if possible, even more skeptical about their claim about being royalty.

It was another ten minutes before Peter had regained the use of his toes, and another twenty (during which the sky above the clearing began to dim) before he thought himself fit to climb up the makeshift ladder Lucy had carved in the pit wall. This he seemed to manage with will alone, dragging himself to the top of the pit and almost falling back down, though Edmund and Timothy quickly reached down and pulled him onto safer ground. Then the four of them sank down on the pit edge, all worn out, and hoped never to encounter such a horror again.


	27. Twenty Seven

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. (Gasp, nothing after!)

* * *

"We need to get going," Peter said after a short while. His face was pale and his hands were shaking. Edmund nodded and got to his feet, retrieving both his and Peters' swords from the ground, where Timothy had returned them after cleaning them on the grass some distance away from the pit. Handing Rhindon to his brother, the younger king rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck and brushed some crumbly dried blood from his tunic.

"I'd say we have a half hour before sunset," he judged, looking up at the sky. Lucy shuddered at the idea of spending a night in such a place.

"Well, I don't think I'm the only one not keen on staying here," said Peter, using his sword to lever himself to his feet unsteadily.

"Given what this place is capable of, I'd much rather stay here, actually," Timothy said. "We've already eliminated – all right, mostly eliminated the danger in this area. What's next could be worse."

"He has a point," Lucy said fairly.

"And it's getting awfully dark," said Edmund.

"And we wouldn't have to sleep on roots here," Lucy put in.

They all stared at Peter, who sighed at last, brushing some hair away from his face.

"Fine," he said. He seemed uncomfortable with the idea, but pulled the pack from his back (which had miraculously stayed intact) and moved a few feet away from the pit edge before sitting down. "We'll stay here for the night."

"As you wish, O High King," Edmund said with a smirk. Peter didn't even bother to look annoyed. The other three of them sat down about him, carefully moving aside scabbards and sore limbs, Ed to his left, Timothy to his right and Lucy across their little circle. They all placed their packs on the ground and shed their cloaks; it was rather warm, but Lucy had no doubts it would get colder as the evening went on.

"Supper?" Lucy said pleasantly, opening her pack and rummaging through its rather squashed contents. It was amazingly odd to think that only four hours ago, they had been safe and comfortable in Tamitha.

"You make it sound like we're sitting down to tea at the Cair," said Edmund, raising an eyebrow. Timothy snorted, and Ed gave him a dark look. "Yes, the Cair. The castle. Cair Paravel, on the eastern shore, Cair Paravel of the four thrones."

Timothy frowned for a moment, his eyes searching the air in front of him for something, then he shrugged.

"As you say," he said dismissively. Then, with more thought, "My old country had its castle on the eastern shore, too."

"Did you ever visit it?" Lucy asked politely as she set some bread and cheese on a handkerchief before him (guests first, even if they weren't at home).

"No," Timothy said, after a moment of thought. "No, I never did. I was the son of a farmer, I think, in the south."

Lucy smiled softly, somewhat sadly – Susan's south. There were some things she couldn't help but relate to her older sister, even if they were unrelated.

"Well I hope you find your way back," she said honestly. "With all your people, too."

"Thank you," he said with a small smile, taking a bite of his meal. The forest around them was making somewhat disturbing noises as they began their meal, but nothing moved to harm them. Some of the shifting and weak squeaking noises from the pit indicated that their previous foe was still alive, though for its own sake Lucy hoped it wouldn't be for long.

"I wonder how Su's holding up," Edmund said after they'd been eating in silence for a while.

"She'll be fine," Lucy said, more confident than she felt. "She knows how to take care of herself."

"True," her brother agreed, his mouth full of cheese. Peter seemed too tired to correct him.

"What's your sister like?" Timothy asked, probably for the sake of conversation. Lucy smiled.

"Oh, she's wonderful," she said, laughing slightly despite their surroundings. "They call her Susan the Gentle in court, but she's so much more than that. She's elegant and dignified and stubborn and everything a good queen ought to be."

Peter was almost grinning by the end of her speech, his exhaustion written in all his posture.

"She _is _all that," he agreed. "And good in a fight, too. Amazing with a bow and arrow but not bad at all with a short sword, either."

"Seems to run in the family," Timothy commented. "I never yet met a young woman that could use her head like you do, Miss Lucy. And that bottle you carry isn't to be trifled with either."

"I told you it was magic," she said with a smile.

"But I didn't believe you," Timothy confessed. "I do now. And you, Edmund – your swordsmanship's better than any man your age I've seen, to be sure. Kings, Queens or not, you've an incredible family. I must admit I was expecting to be the one holding this group together once we really got into the thick of things, but you barely needed my help now, did you?"

"Thank you," Ed said, somewhat stiffly (he wasn't good with compliments).

"And all I've managed to do is muck things up," Peter said.

"Oh, shut up," Edmund said, rolling his eyes. Nothing more was said on the topic.

As they ate, the sun began to slip beneath the western trees, and a threatening darkness grew with each passing moment. The noises in their surroundings shifted from strange squeals and bird calls to deeper, more rumbling, echoing, frightening noises. When the sun was gone but the moon wasn't quite out yet, a dusky purple settled over the clearing, and the four travelers found themselves glancing around each other nervously. In the day, the Void had been scary. In the night, it was unknown – something even more terrifying.

But when they settled down to sleep with their cloaks wrapped about them, Lucy sandwiched between her brothers and Timothy a little ways off for unspoken reasons, not one of them had any trouble getting to sleep after such a thoroughly exhausting day.


	28. Twenty Eight

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.

* * *

The first thing to disturb them that night was rather fluffy, and Lucy (half asleep) didn't think it threatening in the least until it stopped snuffling around her brothers' sleeping bodies and bit her ankle.

She supposed_ bit _was too strong a word, really, since it had only flat teeth, but it opened its little mouth and closed it around the top of her boot and had just started to squeeze when she let out a shriek and kicked it square in the face. Peter and Edmund both started from sleep, Edmund managing to draw his sword nearly slap Lucy in the face with the flat of it before he pointed it shakily into the darkness, his other hand groping on the ground, trying to help keep him upright. Timothy, at its point, raised his head sleepily.

"Whazzitwhathahuh?" Edmund said urgently, his tongue not quite as awake as the rest of him. The little creature had already wailed and scampered off towards the woodland with its tail between its legs, and Lucy was nearly as sleepy as her brothers, but she managed to reply.

"Ne'er mind," she mumbled tiredly. "Jussa dream."

It hadn't been, but it got the point across, and Edmund again sheathed his sword and dropped back to the ground, his cloak wrapped tightly about him once more. Peter blinked once, then said much more clearly than either of them,

"We should have someone keep watch."

"Why?" Lucy mumbled, her eyes shut tight.

"Because we're in the middle of a forest full of murderous beasts," said Peter, obviously four times awake as anyone else in the near vicinity. "We should have done it before but we were too tired to think of it."

"You do it then," Edmund groaned, pulling his hood around to cover his face.

"I would, but I can't move," Peter said practically.

"Oh."

"Why can't you move?" asked Lucy, turning her head on the ground to look at him. Out in the forest, something made a disconcerting noise.

"For the same reason I couldn't earlier," said Peter. "I think it must have something to do with sleep or unconsciousness. Whenever I wake up, I can't seem to move. It caught me by surprise the first time, just grabbed me by the ankles and dragged me until I fell unconscious, then when I woke up, I couldn't move. Same thing's happening now. But not as bad, I can talk."

" Obviously," said Timothy, somewhat crankily.

"Well, you'll be all right in a few moments, won't you?" Lucy murmured, snuggling further into her cloak.

"I suppose so."

"Then you take first watch," she said. Peter sighed.

"And what about those few moments?" he pointed out.

"Nothing's going to happen in – "

Something exploded from the bush a scant eight yards from Edmund's left, something not very large but something quite determined; it shot towards them with the dull, rapid _thudthud thud _of something pawed and cantering. Lucy let out a short noise of alarm and fumbled for her dagger, but her cloak got twisted about her, and Edmund had fallen back asleep, and Peter couldn't move, and all these thoughts stopped the breath in her throat in the few seconds it took for it to reach them. Then it was upon them, ramming bodily into a suddenly quite awake Edmund, who wheezed as the wind was knocked out of him and he was slammed into Lucy, cracking heads with her.

"Peter!" she cried out as she heard the rip of cloth and a choked whimper from Edmund, who was still struggling to regain his breath, but her eldest brother only gritted his teeth and appeared to concentrate very hard. She had entirely forgotten about Timothy until there came the ring of a sword being drawn and he moved very quickly between whatever it was that had attacked Edmund and Edmund himself.

A great and hideous squeal pierced her ears, waking her up completely. A second later, the thing went wheeling away, albeit with the sound of a limp in its gait.

"Are you all right?" Timothy asked to Edmund, rolling him back over.

"M'fine," Ed panted, wrenching away from the touch. "Nothing wrong with me. M'fine."

"Did it hurt you?"

"I'm fine!" snapped Edmund.

"Ed, calm down," Lucy said, frowning.

"I'm perfectly calm," he muttered angrily. Timothy stood from his crouch and moved away, wiping his sword on the ground and looking sour.

"Of course you are."

"No use fighting," said Peter reasonably. He seemed to have gained the use of his upper body and had sat up, using his arms to prop himself. "Ed, you sure you're all right?"

"_Yes,_" Edmund said quite crankily. He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes tightly.

"My thanks to you, Timothy," said Peter, twisting slightly to face their ally. "That was some quick sword work. I'd expect as much from a soldier. Are you certain about being a farmer before?"

"Quite," said Timothy curtly, dropping to the ground again, though he did not lay down. "Though it's possible I joined the infantry at some point. I do seem to remember a great conflict at one time."

Lucy rolled onto her stomach, trying to fall back asleep as her brother continued to talk with Timothy. Edmund seemed to be attempting the same. How long Peter and Timothy remained awake, talking, she didn't know, but after a while the constant noise ceased to annoy her and became more of a comfort, something that made her feel more secure. It was good to know that someone was awake, watching over them, and soon she was drifting back to sleep.

When she awoke, it was light, cold and the ground was rather uncomfortably moist. Lucy raised her head groggily to glare at Edmund, who had prodded her into wakefulness, then asked as pleasantly as she could,

"What?" (It came out a touch crankier than she'd intended.)

"Your watch," said Edmund, shrugging. "You got off easy. I've been up for an hour. In another half hour, you wake all of us up. In the meanwhile you can get breakfast going."

"Yes, Your Majesty," she said teasingly, shifting to sit up a bit. She didn't feel very refreshed, but that was mostly because her clothes (and skin and hair, she noted with some disgust) were still matted with blood and crusty dirt and slime. Edmund lay down and seemed to fall asleep instantly, so she was left alone to get up and wrap her cloak more tightly about herself. It was rather cold.

"Yuch," Lucy muttered, brushing a bit of dried spider-blood off the bit of mail shirt that stuck out from beneath her overtunic. She struggled to her feet, still wrapped in her cloak, and reached for the packs, which had survived the night. Each of them had packed enough to last about three days, though dinner last night had been a bit larger than intended since they'd all felt so worn after the various trials of the day. Rooting through the packs, Lucy thought she could make a decent stew with some of the vegetables and water from the water gourds, but aside from not wanting to waste the water, she had a feeling that making a fire would attracted unwanted attention.

She settled instead on a simple meal of dried fruit and nuts, dishing out a portion for each of them and tearing into quarters what seemed to be a red pepper of sorts. Finished with that task, there was nothing left but to sit and look around at the shifting forest, the shadows that darted around the edges of the clearing and grow accustomed to the strange, haunting sort of birdsong that marked the morning.

Lucy had never been very good at sitting still for long; after about fifteen minutes, she felt inclined to get up and see what their friend the pit-monster had accomplished overnight. She got up from where she'd sat down on the dewy grass, made her way over to the edge of the pit and peered in curiously. Immediately, she wished she hadn't. It was quite obvious the thing was dead – just like a spider that's been dead too long, it had shriveled up, its enormous legs still cracked and broken and crusted with its own blood, but it lay on its side, seeming to have dried out.

Her stomach doing somersaults, Lucy hurried back to her party and sat down again, looking at the food reluctantly. She woke Peter up then, though Edmund had instructed her to wait another ten minutes, because Peter apparently took longer to wake up since the spider's venom had entered his system. Though he wasn't quite perky, he thanked her politely for waking him and waited for his body to respond again. And after ten minutes, Lucy poked Edmund awake and gently roused Timothy, and the four of them sat down to breakfast (though in Lucy's case, with something short of enthusiasm).

"You know," said Timothy after a long, chewing-filled silence. "I had the queerest dream last night."


	29. Twenty Nine

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. I do have asthma, though, which isn't nearly as cool. Sorry for the wait. I'm a horrible human being.

* * *

They looked at him expectantly, but he continued to eat for a few moments before he again spoke.

"I dreamt I was back…where I came from," said Timothy thoughtfully. "It was summer, I believe, nearing the harvest time, and we were all working to ready the storage houses."

A shrill but distant cry echoed through the forest to the east, where the sun was rising. Lucy shivered.

"I remember…one day, a woman came to my farmhouse," Timothy continued slowly. "She was old, very old, with skin so wrinkled it looked like paper. There was something…something different around her, but I can't remember what. I don't think she was an ordinary woman. She looked like she might have been beautiful in her youth, but now she seemed to be dying, poor thing. And oh – I remember now – one of her fingers had been cut off, and the wound was strange, oozing what looked like sap rather than blood. And it smelled of apples. That was the strangest thing of all."

Edmund made a face over his breakfast; it was clear he didn't like the topic in combination with food, but Timothy continued anyway.

"My wife and I tried to help her," he said, smiling wistfully (Lucy got the feeling he had only recently remembered his wife). "We treated her wound and gave her food and drink, and a place to sleep, but the next morning we found that she had gone from this world. She seemed to have traveled a long way to find us, but she was too late. And after that, things began to change in my homeland."

"How so?" Lucy asked curiously, managing another bite of breakfast despite the lingering mental images of the dried out spider-creature.

"I don't quite remember," Timothy shrugged. "But I know shifted drastically there. And I know inside that I _must _rescue all my people from that world as soon as I can."

"And we will," Peter assured him. "As soon as we rescue our sister. Your people may be trapped in that world, but they aren't in any immediate danger – Susan is."

"Yes, I know," Timothy said, though there was a slightly urgent edge still in his voice. Lucy had the feeling that he was rather bent on the one thing he intended to accomplish.

No more was spoken through that meal; when the sun had risen scarcely ten minutes they were packing up their things and beginning their trek north, back into the mass of towering trees and sticky slime that had plagued them before. Lucy tried not to think of warm baths or hot food, as she knew they would probably have to spend another two nights in the forest and thinking of better things simply made the real world seem worse.

They spoke little for the first half hour of the trek, raising their voices only to warn one another of some trick in the landscape. When the sun had risen considerably above the treetops, some bare-boned conversation between Peter and Timothy arose, the High King idly questioning their comrade about his life. Sometimes he had the answers, sometimes he didn't. Lucy didn't bother herself with listening to it, as she was busy trying not to fall face-first into the slime-covered mess of decomposition that was the forest floor. The green rash of yesterday had disappeared, but the skin was now covered in small, light-brown flecks.

The first trouble came around noontime, surprisingly (before then, the worst they'd encountered was some hanging ivy that had "attempted to eat Edmund's pack," though Lucy suspected he'd just gotten it tangled and had been too proud to admit it). Peter, who was leading, let out a warning yell that made Lucy jump, and a second later she stepped right into what he'd been warning about. Abruptly ankle-deep in tree slime, she let out a shriek and hurriedly stepped back out of what seemed to be a long, somewhat elliptical indentation in the ground. The roots of the trees had been smashed into it, and the sludge had obviously seeped in to form a sort of puddle, which now had a few leaves floating in it.

"Disgusting," Timothy commented, coming up behind them.

"It's a footprint," said Peter worriedly. Edmund opened his mouth, shut it, and looked at his brother for leadership.

"I guess we go around it, then," Lucy suggested, when it was obvious that Peter wasn't going to say anything. "Since I don't fancy wading through it."

Edmund nodded and led the way, veering slightly off to one side with a glance at the sun. Lucy followed, then Timothy, then at last Peter, who tore his eyes away from the footprint, checked for his sword, shield and pack, then continued along behind the rest of them in the rear.

"Let's just hope we don't run into whatever made it," Edmund commented, holding aside a few hanging vines for Lucy, who thanked him.

"I wouldn't fancy it," Timothy agreed. "We've had enough of monsters for one trip."

They trudged along, through the muck and slime, and Lucy again thought of what it might feel like to be clean. It had only been a day, but she already felt as if she had been dirty an eternity. _If only Susan could see us,_ Lucy thought dryly. _She would take Peter and Edmund by the ear, and send them off to bathe, and then she'd drag me along too…_

This thought was amusing enough to lift her spirits slightly, and let out a little laugh, which was largely ignored but for Edmund, who gave her a strange look.

"I was thinking of Su," she explained. He blinked.

"I wouldn't think that would be cause for laughter," he commented. "Given that she's in a spot of trouble right now."

"Well, there's no use worrying," said Lucy, shrugging. "It's not as if it will change anything. I was just thinking of what she would say if she saw us now."

Edmund grinned, hacking a low-hanging branch off a tree and kicking it out of their path.

"She'd probably tell us to stop being silly and turn back," he laughed.

"Yes, and that we're awfully dirty," Lucy agreed. "She'd make us all take baths."

"You know, I would have no objections to that," Peter called from behind them. His younger siblings nodded in agreement, laughing, but abruptly there was an overwhelming, echoing rush of air, a booming _thump _and the foliage jumped a little as the ground shook. Suddenly, barely two feet away from Edmund nose, there was a tall, thick pillar of grayish-green flesh, covered in faint, rippling scales. It was, unmistakably, a foot.


	30. Thirty

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.

I can't make promises. Seasonal affective disorder (SAD) stole my winter writing away and it's hard to get it back. I'll try. I'm sorry.

* * *

For a moment, no one spoke, as if afraid of making a noise that would offend whatever it was that had just made its appearance. Then Edmund took a swift step backwards, mouth hanging open at the sheer size of the thing that was standing before them.

Its head was so high up, it exploded through the foliage above and extended another good ten feet (the trees in the Void, though quite thick and very dense, were only about twenty-five feet tall on average). After a moment, Lucy made the surprising but somewhat calming observation that the foot (she was pretty sure it was a foot) bore no claws, simply ending in a large, vaguely-toed stump. She supposed there was another foot somewhere, but for the moment her gaze was drawn upwards, and she stared towards the sky, shielding her eyes against the sun.

She was greeted by two enormous, curious eyes, an odd purple in color and so big, she could have held up Peter's shield and it wouldn't have covered them. Its face contained nothing but these and two slits that seemed to be for breathing, like nostrils. The thing had apparently bent over, for she could see its short, thick neck extending back to its shoulders, which were a silvery purple, gradually fading to the grayish green of its massive, round feet. It seemed unexpectedly harmless. From the cylindrical trunk of its body sprouted four long, thin arm-like appendages, though instead of fingers they seemed to have small mouths; one of these was currently chewing on a nearby tree.

The four travelers remained bolt stiff and quite silent, their eyes locked with those of the strange creature that towered above them. It must have been a full minute before the thing moved, straightening out to its full height and making a low sort of booming noise that came from a hole in its neck (which had previously been hidden from their sight by its head).

Edmund clapped his free hand over his ear and winced. Peter tensed, but when the creature did nothing but make noise, he relaxed again. Staring in wide-eyed wonderment at this new acquaintance, Lucy was the first to move as she stepped forward and tentatively touched a hand to its scaly skin. It was smooth and cool to the touch, though the edges of the scales were rough, nearing sharpness.

"Lu, be careful," Edmund warned her.

"You'd best leave it be, lass," Timothy whispered. She ignored both of them and looked up into the curious eyes of the purple being. A second later, it bent down again, pushing its face through the foliage and bringing it frighteningly close to theirs, at which the boys all took a step back and Lucy alone stood her ground.

"Hello," Lucy said amiably. She wasn't bothered by this creature in the least. It seemed…almost friendly, somehow. The creature made another low rumbling noise and pushed yet closer, blinking its great eyes slowly. Lucy reached out and haltingly put a hand on its cheek, at which the little slits of its nostrils flared and a gust of hot air drifted past her face, but it did not move away.

"Madness," she heard Timothy mutter.

"It's not dangerous," Lucy shrugged. "Look, its arms are for eating trees. Don't be silly."

"Try saying it's not dangerous when you're a pancake in its footprint," said Edmund darkly. Peter snorted.

The thing (Lucy mentally named it the Purple, for lack of a better name) finally lifted its face away from her and lifted it back above the treetops as if surveying the area. A second later, there was some kind of noise in the undergrowth and it responded with its own bellow – this time, even Lucy covered her ears.

"Not so loud," she grumbled, though of course it neither understood nor responded. There was another noise, from somewhere far to their left, and the Purple let out a high-pitched bray like some strange mix of a donkey and an elephant. From what they could see of its eyes from thirty feet below, they were opening wider in alarm. A final noise came, much closer than before, and suddenly the foot before them – scarcely two feet in front of Lucy – lifted rapidly out of the forest, leaving a small pond of tree slime in the depression.

"Lucy, get out of the way!" Edmund shouted from behind her, quickly grabbing the back of her tunic and pulling her backwards. She stumbled, but he quickly caught her as the foot swung towards them a little, knocking through the place where her head had just been, then swung the other direction as the Purple worked to turn itself around. Its other foot lifted from the woods twenty feet to their right, swung away from them, and it slowly revolved before taking off into an unexpected sprint, one foot in front of the other, a lumbering, thumping gait that took it quickly out of their eyesight, though exactly in the direction they were traveling.

But one thing was certainly changed – where their path before had been marked only by Peter's judgments of sun position, so that they might keep traveling northward, suddenly there were more tell-tale signs. The Purple had fled due north, and left behind it a mess of fallen trees, puddles of ooze and general detritus. However, Lucy _also _noticed the vast number of bugs and small critters fleeing away from the destroyed environment, and came to a bit of a realization.

"Looks like we have a path," Timothy commented, raising an eyebrow and pushing aside a vine with his sword.

"So long as we keep our eyes open for footprints," said Edmund darkly.

"I'm staying with 'we have a path,'" said Peter, edging past his brother and their friend to stand beside Lucy, who was in front. "What do you say, Lu?"

"Told you it was friendly," she said with a smile, looking at the trail the Purple had left them.

"No you didn't," said Peter confusedly. Lucy shrugged.

"Same thing."


	31. Thirty One

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. I do own several advance chapters, a plan, and the will to finish this thing off. Sorry for the wait, everyone.

* * *

"Watch it!" Edmund snapped at Timothy (who had stepped on a branch, which had then risen on its opposite end to trip the young king) after a solid four hours of travel, through the muck and the grime of the relentless Void. To their backs, Lucy had long lost sight of the turrets and towers that had previously stretched above the walls of Tamitha, the city from whence they'd come. Now, all they could see was an endless stretch of seething green, ringing with the strange cries and groans of even stranger inhabitants. Only her faith in Peter's sense of direction and the convenient path which the Purple had marked out kept her from losing hope of reaching Susan in time.

"Are you holding up all right?" she asked Peter as he led them carefully through the wreckage of the Purple's path.

"Fine," he said. She hadn't really expected a real answer from him; the question had been more to make sure he knew she cared.

They continued on, skirting the oozing footprints of that the Purple had left behind, until it must have been past two in the afternoon and Peter finally agreed to take a rest. They stopped in a small clearing, beside a footprint but far enough away from it that no one stood the risk of getting a soggy bottom. Lucy noted that her previously swollen hand (a result of touching the tree slime the day before) had pretty much gone back to normal, but when asked, Edmund told her that the marks on her face from their encounter with the strange spider-like creature the day before had not disappeared, though they'd faded. Her healed arm felt a little strangely heavy, but it wasn't really anything to worry about.

The break lasted only ten minutes before the four of them were up again. With their path outlined, though it veered off far in front of them, their quest felt less aimless, more directed, as if their objective was in sight. Lucy guessed they had about three days left before Susan's wedding. If they continued at this rate, they should be at Tamas in less than two days' time, and then have a day in the city to figure out how to rescue Susan. But that was a big "if" – who knew what they would encounter before they reached the city? And once they were there, how would they get in? If it was anything like Tamitha had been, then the walls would be impossible to scale without some kind of inside help, of which they of course had none. But they'd play that as they'd played everything else – they'd figure it out when they came to it.

That day turned out to be a day of few surprises. Though the Purple's footsteps had left innumerous ooze pools on the forest floor, it seemed it had also scared away all the creatures that would have otherwise harried them on their journey, as well as having knocked down most of the trees that would have gotten in their way, and so when the four of them passed through this part of the Void, there was nothing to watch out for but that which was at their feet. Though once or twice one of them did slip into the ooze puddles, without skin contact it seemed harmless, and even Lucy's rash had faded. Compared to the previous day, the Void seemed positively harmless.

And so, when the sun had just slipped under the hidden horizon, still lighting the sky with its afterglow, Peter agreed to make camp around one of the footprints, and they settled down. Lucy, tired of being in charge of food, passed the job on to Timothy, while she took over his of helping Peter and Edmund to remove the most uncomfortable bits of their armor so that they could sleep easier. Then they sat down to eat. Timothy had chosen to make each of them a pleasant sort of half-sandwich, with cheese and selected vegetables on top of a piece of bread, while they shared the two remaining water canteens. They could still hear the river far off to the east, but no one had any desire to detour there to get more.

Dinner over, the quartet cleared a place on the debris-strewn ground and wrapped their cloaks about themselves. Lucy was still covered in grime and dried blood; she'd done the best she could, but knew better than to waste their drinking water on washing. They could do that once they reached the city, if they had time. Susan's life and well-being was much more important than Lucy's state of hygiene, despite what Susan would have probably had to say about the matter.

Yawning, Lucy rolled up in a little ball, Peter and Edmund on either side of her as Timothy took first watch. Tonight felt safer than the last, though Lucy didn't fancy that anything in the Void could be considered safe. Still, it seemed odd that no one had ever passed through alive – they must have been more than halfway, having made excellent time with their makeshift path, and the only thing that had really come close to killing them had been the pit creature. Then Lucy remembered the extent of her brothers' courage – not to mention her own – and how her cordial had actually been needed to save two of them so far, how Peter had been poisoned. Alone, no one stood a chance in here. Even Timothy, it seemed, had been absolutely necessary at times to get them through.

As she fell closer to sleep, Lucy wondered if that was why Aslan had not let Peter go on his own. _Do not underestimate your siblings, _the Lion had said. _They are stronger than you think. _Peter alone was a hero, a martyr sometimes, an unquestionably brave and selfless soul, but despite his strength, Peter was not invincible. He was possibly the most well-intentioned person Lucy knew, but like everyone else, he had failings. Peter was intelligent, but his mind did not have the quick, sharp deviancy of Edmund's. Peter was strong, but he had too many roles to play and he could not be rescuer to Susan and protector to his other siblings without Timothy to cover his back. And as for Lucy…well…Lucy found it hard to think nice things about herself without feeling very conceited and so she asked someone else instead.

Edmund groaned when she poked him but rolled over obligingly to face his sister.

"What is it?" he mumbled tiredly.

"Ed, how am I being useful?" she asked in a whisper.

"What?"

He sounded slightly cranky and confused. She tried again.

"How am I helping to rescue Susan?" she asked, hoping he'd understand this time. "Am I just…dead weight or am I actually doing something?"

"Oh," he said, tiredly reaching out a hand to rub her shoulder reassuringly as he opened his eyes to look at her. "Lu, we need you as much as we need anyone. I know this sounds dumb but…without you around it's easy to get…cynical. Feel like…there's no way to get anything done. You kind of push us along, you know? Give Peter and me a reason to stop fighting and get moving."

Lucy smiled softly as he pulled his hand back to the warmth of his own cloak.

"Thanks, Ed," she yawned as she settled back down.

"Anytime," said Edmund, rolling back over. The next bit was a grumpy grumble - "Unless I'm sleeping!"

Chuckling, Lucy fell into dreams.


	32. Thirty Two

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.

* * *

_Lucy opened her eyes and sat up groggily. She didn't quite know why she'd woken up – no one had tried to wake her. In fact, no one was even awake. No one was on watch. Alarmed, she clambered to her feet and wondered who'd fallen asleep too soon, when suddenly there was a disturbance from the giant footprint nearby – something was coming up and out of it. Lucy grabbed her dagger from the ground next to her and held it at the ready, watching as a very human hand reached out of the ooze and searched for the edge. Frozen with confusion and fear, clutching her dagger hilt as though her life depended on it, Lucy watched as a dark-haired head followed, and soon after her sister arose from the disgusting puddle. Shocked, the youngest queen found herself speechless. _

_Susa__n got to her feet on the crowded ground slowly, turning around – she seemed to glow softly, and somehow she had stayed clean, rather like her siblings had stayed dry after rising from one of the pools in the Wood Between the Worlds. Lucy gaped at her quietly, unsure of what to say. Could they just go home now? Mission accomplished? But Susan shook her head as if in response. She held up her hand urgently. _

_"What is it, Su?" Lucy asked in haste. _

_Susa__n shook her head again, pressing a helpless finger to her lips – she could not speak. Then she pointed to Lucy's belt. Confused, Lucy looked down at it. There were several things hanging upon it; the pouch for her cordial, the satchel with her rings, a tiny kitchen blade for bread and cheese, her scabbard. Which was Susan pointing to? Presently, the elder queen made a gesture with her hands, like the firing of an arrow. _

_"You want your bow?" questioned Lucy confusedly. Susan nodded, and Lucy bit her lip helplessly.. "But we don't have it, Su. Where is it?" _

_Susa__n shrugged. She didn't know. She made another gesture, like blowing her horn, but again Lucy could only shake her head. To this, Susan indicated searching with her hand above her eyes. _

_"Do you need them now?" Lucy asked, unsure how to help her sister. If this even really was her sister. This was all rather strange. She must be dreaming, but to Lucy dreams were just as important, if not more so, than reality. Susan shook her head, but tapped her heart, and Lucy understood that her sister was saying she just wanted her gifts for sentimental reasons. Perhaps Susan knew somehow that they were coming to rescue her and didn't want to return to Narnia without her bow and horn. After all, they were important tokens and valuable tools. _

_But Susan had pointed to her belt before, too.. Confused, Lucy looked down at it again, when something moved on it, as if pulled by a hand. Alarmed, she grabbed the ring satchel, the object in question, and looked up at Susan, but her sister was gone, and the clearing was dark, and she was no longer standing by the side of the print but lying where she had been when sleeping and there was indeed a hand pulling on her satchel… _

"What are you doing?!" Lucy demanded, feeling a hand close around the bag. She grabbed the hand and tried to pull it back down, but its owner was much stronger than her, and without much resistance the little pouch was ripped from her belt. In the dark, backlit by the two tiny moons in the sky, Lucy could see the silhouette of the thief stepping back, pulling out the rings from the bag and casting it aside. Edmund was stirring confusedly beside her but she knew there was no time to waste – the man was getting away!

"Stop!" she ordered, scrambling onto her knees and then up her feet, but she got caught up in her cloak and fell to the ground again. Before Edmund had even sat up to see what the fuss was about, the dark figure was gone.

"What in the blazes is going on?" Peter's voice rang out in the dark as he emerged from the woods a second later, slightly out of breath. "Timothy told me he'd heard something…"

"…Timothy's gone," Edmund interrupted shortly, briskly as he looked beside him. "Did he go with you?"

"No," Peter said, his brow furrowing, his eyes resting on the empty space on the earth.

Connecting two and two, Lucy clapped a hand over her mouth.

"He stole them!" she cried in surprise and anger. "He stole the rings!"

"What?!" Edmund gasped, his hand reaching over to Lucy's belt, but it was gone, the pouch ripped clean off and the rings with it. Peter checked after him, sitting down in disbelief.

"I can't believe it," he said, shaking his head. "What in the name of Aslan possessed him to do it? Ed, do you still have yours?"

Edmund checked – he did.

"I doubt he ever really intended to get us to Susan," he said bitterly. "He only cared about going back to find those other people. But why did he wait so long?"

"I don't know," Peter sighed, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair, upset. "But we can't stop him now. Following him into the Wood could put all of us back in Tamitha and we can't risk that. It's too late. We'll just have to do the rest of this without him and hope we don't need two sets of rings."

"I'm sorry," Lucy said despairingly. "I should have stopped him."

"It wasn't your fault, Lu," Edmund said, shaking his head. "He's twice as big as you and you were asleep. It's all right. We only really need one yellow and one green anyway, and I've still got mine. We'll make do."

"Get some sleep," Peter sighed, standing up and sheathing his sword, which he'd had out previously. "We'll need it. Ed, I'll be waking you in an hour or so, so make sure you get it now."

Nodding in submission, Edmund curled back into his cloak and was soon sleeping. Lucy, not able to do so as quickly, sat a minute longer, staring at the spot where Timothy had disappeared. He had seemed so trustworthy. Intent on the rescue of the others like him, yes, but honest in his intent to help them. Since Lucy was naturally a very trusting person, she found it hard to accept that he had simply abandoned them, and dwelt on this troubling truth for so long she almost forgot about her dream.

"Peter," she said suddenly, when looking at the puddle of ooze triggered the memory. He looked over at her from where he was keeping watch, pacing back and forth quietly; at her voice he'd stopped moving.

"What is it, Lucy?" he asked, his voice low to keep from waking Edmund, who was still slumbering between them.

"I had a dream about Su again," she said. "She wants us to find her horn and her bow and quiver. It's important to her."

"Then we'll do that," Peter said, nodding solemnly and beginning to pace again. Lucy sighed as she settled back down into the unpleasantly squishy earth. With or without Timothy, they still had to find and help Susan. Everything would turn out all right. It had to.


	33. Thirty Three

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.

* * *

Lucy had not realized how often she checked to make sure everything on her belt was in place. It was only when something was missing that she found herself startled by its absence over and over, her hand closing over empty space and a small cry leaving her lips. Her brothers got so used to the noise that when that Lucy tripped over a fallen log and made that same sound, Peter didn't even turn around (Edmund, though, walking behind her, helped her to her feet and brushed her off with gloved hands).

There was little conversation between them that morning. Timothy had been game for idle chat, and though he had never seemed to believe them about being kings and queens, he had had no difficulty swallowing some of Narnia's peculiarities – talking animals, dryads, giants and the like. They hadn't bothered telling him of their ascent to the throne because he was obviously loathe to believe that a country could be led by children, but they had talked about Su often, and their childhood. In turn, he'd tried to tell them about his own past, but it was difficult, given how little he remembered. Still, at least it had been something. Now there was only a heavy silence that hung over them, and a sense of urgency. Three days left.

"What do we do once we reach the city?" Lucy asked, when the squelching and rustling of their feet was not enough to satisfy the appetite of her ears. Ahead of her, Peter gave a shrug. Since the first day, he'd been keeping closer to them, and they closer to him; Lucy feared though that her own slow pace was the deciding one at the moment. But she couldn't help being short.

"We don't know what the city is like, so it's hard to say," said Peter as he climbed up onto a fallen tree that had completely covered their path. "I assume that the king has a castle, and that they'll be keeping Susan somewhere in it. So I suppose we try to find her there."

As Edmund gave Lucy a leg up and Peter swung her onto the top of the fallen tree, Lucy sighed.

"And how do we find her bow and things?" she asked.

"She had them on her when she went out, right?" Edmund asked as he made it up beside them and helped Lucy down into Peter's waiting arms (the split branches on the side were too far apart for her shorter limbs). Peter nodded and helped Ed down, too, just for the sake of it.

"She did," he confirmed. "But who knows what they'll have done with them? They could be anywhere. We'll just have to ask around, I suppose. We know that she was captured by the palace guards. They must have disarmed her."

"I would have liked to see that," Lucy laughed a little as she moved as quickly as she could, trying to keep pace with her frustratingly tall brothers.

"See her disarmed?" Peter asked in bemusement.

"No, no," said Lucy, shaking her head. "To see when she appeared. It must have been a rude shock to them! Imagine Susan showing up and making an easy job out of a few trained men? You know how she is when she's riled."

"Not so gentle," smirked Edmund, hacking away a bramble with his sword. "You're right. That would have been fun to watch."

"Oh, I hope she's all right," Lucy said suddenly, biting her lip in anxiety. Peter's arm was soon around her shoulder as they walked together, squeezing her in a half hug.

"I'm sure she's getting on fine," he said soothingly. "Su is tough. And we're coming for her. At this rate we'll have nearly two days to figure out how – "

- Peter stopped abruptly as his foot slipped a little into one of the ooze ponds, and two spindly green hands took hold of it. Before either of his siblings could react, he kicked out, and the thing let go without a sound, sinking back into the ooze in what Lucy imagined was a sulky, angry manner. It was hard to tell what the thing really looked like.

"I don't want to know what that was," said Peter, rubbing his boot off on the ground, which made it muddy instead of just oozy. Edmund peered into the puddle curiously.

"Take a look," he said after just a moment, pointing a gloved hand down into the muck. Aside from a few floating leaves, Lucy saw nothing, until she followed his finger directly – along the edge of it were several gooey-looking spheres, a sickly pale green in color as they stuck together in a clump. They must have been eggs. Lucy didn't fancy waiting around to find out if they really were. Hurrying along, keeping a safe distance from the puddles now, the three of them hacked, climbed and devised various ways to make their way over the mash of dead and dying things in the Purple's wake.

Once, Lucy discovered a smushed something that looked like it might have been vaguely rabbit-like in life, but it was too unpleasant to look at in death, and so she didn't for very long. But later, when she spotted another casualty of the giant's flight far ahead, she was taken completely by surprise when the same kind of long, brittle hands that had attempted to take Peter's boot down reached completely out of the puddle and seized the furry little dead thing right around the middle. Then the hand retreated back into the puddle, dragging the creature down with it, and with a sucking sound, both disappeared.

"Unpleasant," Edmund commented lightly. Lucy thought it was an understatement.

"I advise against dropping anything in there," said Peter, moving along as if to remind them they still had a job to do. Chuckling, Edmund soon followed, but Lucy remained a moment to peer in after it in fascinated disgust. But when abruptly the hand reached out again, she jumped backwards a little to get her feet out of range, and hurried after her brothers. Rescuing Susan would probably require both feet.


	34. Thirty Four

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.

* * *

By the end of that day, Lucy was unsure how much more of the Void she could take. In the late afternoon, Peter had reluctantly informed them that if they kept with the Purple's trail, they would no longer be traveling due north, and so the three siblings had cut a slight angle off of it, again into the wilderness. Timothy's absence had still left a bit of a lull in their conversation, since Lucy didn't want to talk about what had happened or why, but perhaps it was for the best since all three were getting rather low-spirited and exhausted.

In the approximate two hours they'd then traveled before making camp (perhaps "camp" was too generous a word; Lucy meant finally sitting down with the intent not to get up until the next day), they had run into more trouble than in the full day they'd spent on the Purple's path. Edmund had stepped on what looked to be solid ground, only to have it crumble underneath him and plunge his leg into the den of some creature, which hadn't been happy to see him – by the time Lucy and Peter had managed to yank him out again, his boot (but thankfully not his leg) had been half-shredded. However, since they had nothing with which to fix it, he'd had to carry on anyway.

Then, later on, when Peter had tried to lift Lucy all the way over an overgrown nurse log, his tired arms had buckled and sent them both crashing down to the filthy ground. Apologizing profusely, Lucy had resolved not to be such a baby, and helped her brother up before deciding to cut hand-holds in the log. This had been a bad idea – her dagger easily split apart the crumbling wood and seconds later, a swarm of maggot-like creatures had poured from the hole like blood from a wound. In the end, after furiously brushing the things off her, Lucy had simply had to let Edmund give her a leg up while she lifted herself with two young trees that had rooted on the log. Being short was sometimes a terrible disadvantage.

But it proved to be a big advantage later, when it was time for them to sleep. Without any clearings or breaks in the scenery predictable, they were forced to stop for the night in an area just like most of the others – the only difference was that this one had a strange rock cropping on it, one that might have been a cave. They knew the dangers of sleeping out in the open, especially on the slime that the tree roots seemed to produce, and no one was keen on spending the night in it, but the cave opening was too small for Peter or Edmund to fit into it. Reluctantly, they agreed to let their sister go first, and she took the small, enchanted druid-light that Edmund had taken along from Narnia, and crawled inside with her dagger out.

"Be careful, Lucy," Peter warned. "If you see anything strange at all, come right back out."

Lucy nodded, though he could only see the back of her boots so it didn't matter much. Truth be told, she was terrified – but with her resolution not to be babied had naturally come a resolution to be more helpful. It was all good and fine to be the cheery one, but Peter's earlier incident had reminded her that her brothers were often too stubborn to ask for help, even if they needed it, and so she had taken it upon herself to insist. To her enormous relief, the cave appeared to be deserted – a rather warm, dry thing of dirt, probably caved out by some long-gone animal, about five feet high. There were no passages that led any further back, which was of course a comfort, and none of the ooze of the open floor. So Lucy left the dryad-light in the center of the alcove, and crawled back out.

"It's safe," she told her brothers. "Actually rather lovely. Ceiling will be too low for you to stand, it's even a bit low for me, but fine."

Peter nodded and helped Lucy out of the hole. Then, he and Edmund drew their swords and clumsily cut out a larger hole so that they could each crawl through, though Peter still had to squirm a bit; he was already broad-shouldered, and the armor only accentuated it.

Grouped about the light in the little hole, the three weary travelers split out some of the last of their rations, the bread slightly stale and rather smushed and the spread for it, a paste made out of some vaguely tomato-like vegetable, tasting like it might have been out a little too long. Still, it was something, and the three of them were so tired and hungry that everything tasted as sweet as Cair Cake. When they were done eating, no one wasted any time chatting, except to quickly determine who would take what watch. Knowing that middle watch was the least-favorite, since it cut the sleep clean in half, Lucy immediately volunteered for it, and though her brothers did try to protest and say she needed her beauty sleep, they let her take it and she knew they were grateful.

With Edmund up, watching over both his siblings, soon Peter and Lucy were out cold, grateful to be out of the wind and perhaps just alive. It had been two and a half days since they'd left the safety of Tamitha. Perhaps twice that since departing from Narnia. Lucy dreamed longingly of her home country that night, of bringing her sister home safe and sound, and of a long, hot bath. She longed for more of the simple times, when she and her sister would just sit on the ramparts to watch the sun rise over the eastern ocean, or when her brothers after their training would playfully teach her to spar with a short sword or quarterstaff. She missed the nights when she would fall asleep in Susan's chambers, or Susan in hers, talking and giggling like the girls they were, despite all their responsibilities.

Most of all she just missed having her sister around. Though she loved her brothers dearly, there was a connection she had with Su that could not be replaced by either one of them. Edmund was her playmate, a masterful trickster and often just fun to watch for his growing pains, especially when he got Peter riled. Peter was her protector, and perhaps her idol as well; she had seen him as a king long before he'd ever had the title, and he could always bring a smile to her face just as she could bring one to his. But Susan was something aside from either of them. Susan could be fun (though Lucy often teased her for the opposite), but mostly, Susan understood. Peter and Edmund were well-intentioned, but seemed unable to understand being upset just because she was upset. They always wanted to find a solution. But sometimes Lucy didn't want a solution – she wanted someone to listen and pat her back and say "it's okay – I understand." And that was Susan.

Susan, who they would find tomorrow, Lucy told herself when it was her turn to watch the cave entrance. Her heart skipped a beat in nervousness and excitement. They were close. So close.


	35. Thirty Five

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.

* * *

"Look!" Lucy called suddenly, pointing through the trees, to something which apparently neither of her brothers could see. They were about an hour into the day's travels, and she thought she might have seen something – a strange speck of red through the trees, something moving in a wind they could not feel. "What is it?" Edmund asked skeptically, using his sword to push aside a low-hanging bramble and holding it up for Lucy.

"I think I see the city," said Lucy as she ducked beneath it. "Tamas. I think I saw a banner."

"It's possible," shrugged Peter.

All three were quite exhausted. Lucy thought vaguely that it probably didn't help that they were carrying around their weight in dirt and filth. She felt totally disgusting. As she trudged on through the wild, her mind drifted…

_" Susan, we've come to rescue you!" she could picture herself saying, her dagger held high and a pile of groaning guards behind her. Her hair was matted, her face was smudged with blood and grime, and a trail of mud and ooze had followed her into the corridor. _

_"Oh," her sister said, her eyes trailing up and down Lucy's state of dishevelment worriedly. "Er. Perhaps a different day. I'm ah…rather busy." _

_"Come on!" Lucy said, her white smile a stark contrast to her dirt-encrusted face. She held out a filthy hand, at which her sister flinched comically backwards. _

_"Ah, as you can see, I'm er…I'm…arranging flowers," Susan said hurried, grabbing a vase shoving a few peonies from another into it. Lucy's face dropped into a confused frown. _

_"But Su," she protested. "We've come all this way. Peter and Ed are out in the hall." _

_On cue, her brothers popped their heads into the door, both even more disgusting than Lucy. Susan let out a small shriek and knocked the vase on her nightstand to the ground; it shattered, but she seemed not to notice. _

_"Out!" she gasped fearfully, waving her hands at them passionately. "Get out of my room! Don't come back until you've bathed!" _

Chuckling, Lucy followed her brothers further in – in, which was at this point out of course.

It was about three rough hours later when they saw the end of the trees. Lucy let out an excited yell, and Edmund was about to run forward when she saw the snake and grabbed his shoulder to stop him. From the higher branches came the hissing a moment later, as the jade-colored head of the creature slid down and fixed all three with its unwavering stare. Alarmed, they all took a step back, but it seemed a very long snake indeed, for it only followed them, a slough of green coils still clutching the branch.

"Let me handle this," said Peter quietly, lifting his shield from its hold on his back and bringing it in front of him. He drew his sword a moment later with a muted ring of metal, the sound swallowed by the thick forest. Behind the snake's darting head, Lucy could see light between the trees, and the base of a red-stoned wall, but none of them dared move while the animal still seemed so focused on them. Unlike the other creatures they'd encountered, the snake seemed quite simply a snake, and nothing else.

Lucy and Edmund stood back a short ways as Peter slowly raised his shield up between the snake's eyes and theirs. He himself moved carefully to the side as he did so, but the snake remained fascinated by the play of the light on the bits of his shield that had miraculously stayed shining. Then he lifted his sword, watching the snake watch the shield, and abruptly struck down through the air. The metal made a _woosh _sound as it split the space between the branch and the snake's head, and then abruptly its head was spinning off to the side as the body uncurled limply and fell to the ground with a thud. The thing looked like it had been nearly five feet long.

"Well played," Edmund said approvingly, and this time Lucy let him run. The three of them raced to the end of the tree-tunnel, laughing in earnest for the first time in quite a while, stumbling and falling every now and then, but it didn't matter. They had survived the Void. They had found Tamas, and the sight of the regal pennants streaming high above the city raised such a bubble of hope in Lucy's chest, the noise from outside, the realization that perhaps now they could find a safe place to eat and bathe and sleep, and more than anything, the hope rekindled that they weren't too late to save their sister. Finally, they were here!

"So…how is it we were planning on getting in?" asked Edmund after a rather empty minute, in which the three simply stared in gratitude up at the city on the hill. They were only a few dozen yards from the wall itself, but it must have been twenty-five feet tall and none of them had any hope of scaling it without a rope or a hand-hold of some sort.

"Good question," said Peter, frowning concernedly. After a moment, he cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled up to the top of the wall, "HELLO?"

A very astonished guard stuck his head out over the wall and nearly fell off when he saw the three grime-encrusted travelers down below. Peter smiled in triumph.

"You don't suppose you could help us up, do you?" he called up again. "We've come quite a long way."

The guard looked terrified and disappeared.

"Do you think he'll bring help?" Lucy asked, taking a seat on the grassy hill that led up to the wall. Unlike the rat-infested fields on Tamitha's side of the wall, this side flourished green and beautiful, and the river could be heard just out of sight around the corner, where it forked and dipped beneath the wall to provide water for the city.

"I suppose we'll find out," Edmund sighed as he sat beside her. Only Peter remained standing.

A half hour later, Peter finally agreed that no help was forthcoming, and they looked for an alternate strategy. Peter's rope had been lost in the first world of the dead – who, Lucy thought, might have been sent back home by Timothy by now. She sent a small good thought his way, for though she was upset that he had stolen the rings, she admired his dedication to his cause, and it was a good one. So now without any rope, and without any help from within, either they'd have to fly over the wall or find some other way around it.

Edmund was the one who found the other way around it. Completely desperate for alternatives, finally Peter succumbed to his younger brother's idea – it was the only option. However stupid and dangerous, it was the only option, and time was of the essence. So the three found themselves next to the river, washing it crash down beneath the city walls, where they could see it run through an iron grille and into the city itself. None of them could swim in armor, of course, but the current was so swift that it would probably carry them with or without it. They would only have to worry about being smashed into the grille, or caught in it. If they couldn't make it through on the first shot, there would be no second shot. The grille looked to be wide enough to fit even Peter in, but the wrong angle could mean disaster.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Peter asked his siblings for what seemed to Lucy the eighteenth time. They stood on the bank together, one in a row, Peter first, Lucy second and Edmund last, checking to make sure their things were secure and preparing themselves to jump.

"The answer is still yes," Edmund told him. "On three."

Lucy began the count, but none of them said 'three.' All had taken the largest breath they could manage and jumped into the leaping waters, for better or for the worst.


	36. Thirty Six

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.

* * *

Lucy's first surprise was that the water was not all that cold, or at least, it was warmer than the waters of Castle Lake had been. Her second surprise was that she was not swept away right off the bat; instead, she sank down, down for a few moments before slowly heading off towards the gate and picking up speed. She flailed her arms out urgently, trying to hurry the current up, but it took its time, and only after a few seconds did she really pick up speed. She opened her eyes in the blue, and they stung slightly, but now she could tell as she began to speed towards the wall that she was several feet down from the surface and several feet up from the bottom, borne swiftly alongside another larger shape who she guessed might be Edmund.

The third surprise was the nastiest. By now, the current was carrying them quite swiftly, roughly urging them towards the wall, and Lucy had closed her eyes again when with a horrible slam, she found herself shoved up against the iron bars of the grille. Whatever air was left in her lungs was forced out of them immediately, and she choked in the murky blue, trapped for a moment as the current hammered her into the grille. Finally, after what seemed an age of struggling in the dark, she managed to lurch out between two of the bars and twist her shoulders, and the water thrust her through. But it was growing too late for her, and her mind was reeling with want of air, her head pounding and her movements growing weaker and weaker. She knew she ought to struggle up to the surface somehow, now that she was within the city limits, but she couldn't. She didn't have the strength.

Just as Lucy found her sight dimming, the light from above fading in her eyes, someone's arms plunged down from above and wrapped about her, a body sinking swiftly down beside her. She wondered hazily why this person was taking them further down, when suddenly she felt a sudden movement from below and knew that her rescuer had used the river bottom to kick off of. The light from above grew closer, but for Lucy it was still diminishing, and by the time she broke the surface, she was nearly out. She had held out, taken no breath of water, but none of air either, and it wasn't until a hand pushed firmly on her stomach that she finally choked and dared to do so.

The first rush of air was like sugar in her lungs, and she gasped out as she felt herself dragged further up on the bank. When she finally managed to open her eyes, she saw someone staring concernedly at her, but the face was hazy and she could not figure out which of her brothers it was. However, when she rubbed the water from her eyes, still struggling for a decent breath, she found that it was neither of them, but a rather portly man with a bald head and a short beard. He had a rather jovial look about him, but the round glasses perched on his nose gave him some air of knowledge.

"Hello, young miss," he said, adjusting the glasses, which somehow were not wet.

"Hello…" Lucy began distractedly, struggling to sit up looking around desperately for her brothers. To her relief, she could see them across the river, checking one another over and looking her way concernedly – apparently they had washed up there.

"They are quite all right, my dear," said the man comfortingly. "Though I'm quite curious to know how you three came to be outside the Wall, and why you chose to enter through the filtration gate."

"It's ah…a very long story," said Lucy, coughing a little and wringing some water out of her sopping hair. Despite the dip, she felt none the cleaner, just very wet, but the man seemed perfectly dry. "Could you possibly tell me what day the king's wedding is to be?"

"Well, that'd be Wednesday, of course," said the man, helping Lucy to her feet. The river was too wide and deep to wade, and as there was no bridge, she and her brothers were separated at least for the moment.

"And what day is today?" asked Lucy politely, signaling to them that she was safe. They backed off slightly, watching her speak to the man. He gave her a strange look, but shrugged and told her,

"Monday, my dear. Monday afternoon."

"How are you not wet?" Lucy asked perplexedly, now that the important questions were out of the way. The man looked back and forth a little nervously.

"Just a little charm, dearie, please don't tell," he said anxiously, wringing his hands. "I know there are the laws but I do so hate to be wet…"

"Thank you for rescuing me," Lucy said at last, nodding in gratitude. "Don't worry, I won't tell. I think it's silly that your magic is restricted, anyhow. Is that how you do the filtration?" She gestured to the river.

"Yes, yes, but of course that's approved. Just that and the Wrens. And the king's wedding. Dear Lord." The man looked exasperated with the topic and threw up his hands a little. A rather awkward moment of silence passed, with Lucy dripping onto the river and her brothers gesturing for her to hurry things up.

"Well I hate to be a bother," said Lucy finally, smiling to the man and beginning to move off away from the wall. "But my brothers are waiting and we have an awful lot to do in the next few days. Thank you for your kindness, sir, I won't forget it."

He touched the top of his head, which seemed to be some kind of acknowledgement, and Lucy waved back before hurrying away. The river dropped down underground after a little while, and it was here that Lucy finally reunited with her brothers.

"Thank Aslan that chap was there, Lu, we thought…"

"Peter was about to dive back in after you but he…"

" Never mind that, what did you find out from him?" Peter said suddenly, silencing Edmund with a small gesture.

"It's Monday, wedding's Wednesday, and apparently the king is using a lot of magic for his wedding," Lucy shrugged.

"But Susan is _here_," Edmund suddenly said, his eyes lit up. " Susan is right here in this city and we can find her. We can get her out of here!"

This thought was quite exciting to Lucy as well, and after a brief conversation, the three set out into the city, drawing all manner of strange looks for their state of mess as well as for dripping water and mud all through the streets (Lucy felt very bad about this, but her brothers pointed out that the horses were doing the same thing). Before anything else was done, all three were in desperate need of a wash and a good rest. It had taken a miracle to get them there and it would take a miracle to get them clean.


	37. Thirty Seven

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.

* * *

Lucy knew she would wouldn't really feel clean until she had a chance to wash with some strong Narnian perfumes and soaps, but she couldn't deny how utterly amazing it felt when to slide into a large tub of crystal-clear water, steaming hot and waiting for her in the back room of the tavern they'd decided upon. Of course, the instant she submerged herself, the water turned a foul brown color, with swirls of a nauseating green and chunks of dried whatnot floating about, but that was fixable. Making a face, Lucy quickly got out, pulled the plug and filled the tub again by pulling down the chute that held the water from the heated spring below. The second tubful was slower to discolor, and so she scrubbed and fussed until it was too filthy to be of much use anymore, then dumped and refilled once again.

By the end of her fourth tubful, she was as clean as she was going to get. Her damp hair, though still coarser than she would have liked, was free of blood and dirt; her skin was rubbed pink and raw and glowed in a sort of relieved, exhausted way. Edmund had pointed out that they ought to have some clean clothes for after they bathed, and Lucy was glad her rather sharp-minded elder brother had thought of this. The new dress was made of a scratchy material that made Lucy's legs itch, but it was clean and unripped and at the moment, she was not apt to be much more picky than that. Sighing happily, Lucy piled her filthy armor in a heap to retrieve later and left the bath room.

She found her brothers in the inn's tavern, both damp and wet-haired and talking over a mug of what she presumed was ale. They smiled at her when she came in, and she took a seat in the chair Peter quickly pulled up for her.

"Feel any better?" Edmund asked his sister fondly.

"Much," said Lucy, sighing. "I imagine I look and smell it, too."

"Ed and I were trying to figure out how to go about this," Peter began after a moment of pleasantries, his hands clasped on the table in front of him and his voice slightly hushed. "I don't think this is the sort of thing where we could just charge in and take her back, see, because Su wouldn't have just sat there and let herself be taken. They would have had to post guards to keep her from escaping."

"We think we ought to figure out where she's being kept before making a move," Edmund explained to Lucy, who nodded. "If the king plans to marry her, I'd guess she'd be at the castle. So we need to find the castle, which shouldn't be too hard, and try to figure out her location inside it. Then we can try and sneak in to sneak her out."

"Escape shouldn't be too complicated, though, right?" Lucy pointed out. "If all four of us are together, even if we're still in the castle or under attack, we can use the ring and get back to Narnia."

"That's a good point, but it's a little risky," said Peter, frowning and taking a sip from his mug. "If we're in a rush and one of us gets left behind…I can't let that happen."

"_We _can't let that happen," Edmund reminded him.

"As you say."

"Well then, I say we ought to get going as soon as possible," said Lucy practically. "We have half a day left and I feel loads better after that bath. How about you?"

"I agree, Lu, but I think we should try to get an early night if we can," Peter replied, signaling to an idle waitress to come over to the table. "I've got us a room here tonight, and the son of the owner said he'd wash up our armor for two silvers. We can go out and find the castle today, then rest on it and come back in the morning, how's that?"

"It's a plan," said Edmund with an agreeable nod as the waitress came over to see what they needed. A short while later, the three were exclaiming over the first hot meal they'd had in days, the simple fare so much more meaningful after the long, difficult journey. Lucy was still in shock that they'd actually made it over alive. It was almost hard to remember their quest wasn't over, that the hardest part was probably still before them, but the absence of Susan's soothing voice in their conversation hung over the three of them as a heavy-handed reminder of what they'd set out to achieve.

When they had eaten, and all had moved their armor into a back room to be cleaned, the three washed off their most important possessions – weaponry, money and Lucy's gifts – and took them with them. Bruised and scratched but with high spirits, the siblings set off into the city.

With a bit of asking, the three soon determined that the castle was stationed on the north wall, neither to the east nor to the south. It looked to be about two in the afternoon, and they'd been told it was about an hour's walk through the city to reach it, so the three set aside their exhaustion, picked up their determination in its stead and headed north. Lucy enjoyed not having to look at her feet as she walked, since cobblestones were cobblestones and even in her stiff new boots, it was so much easier to walk here where a fall didn't have the possibility of oozing rashes and a mouthful of potential poison.

Tamas, they'd been told, was in area no larger than Tamitha, but it seemed to have nearly twice as many residents; it was a crowded city with precariously tall wooden buildings and people overflowing the streets, and it was quite full of noise. Lucy noticed that Peter was keeping a hand on his coin pouch as he walked along, and though she generally liked to trust people, understood that this was probably wise. They were jostled and pushed aside so frequently that she would have been hard-pressed to notice if anything at all disappeared from her belt. Edmund, the most naturally suspicious of them, looked as though he was in the presence of a rank odor.

Lucy saw the castle about twenty minutes before they actually reached it. It towered above everything else, built of stone instead of wood, and decorated with pennants and streamers in excess, perhaps in celebration of the upcoming wedding. She remembered what the magician at the Wall had said about the king's wedding using magic, and thought he'd been right to be exasperated – while many people seemed to suffer in the streets, begging food and help from the passers-by, just inside the polished iron gates of the outer wall was visible an abundance of cheap magic tricks, or at least things that she could not explain without magic. Frogs around a small pond were hopping in formation to amuse fancily dressed lords and ladies as they passed. Men dressed in comical costumes were conjuring delicacies and cheap jewels from thin air to dispense among the crowd of courtiers in the gardens. On an inner door was carved a face that would give directions to those who asked, and everything sparkled with an unrealistic, unconvincing, tacky sort of shine.

"Well?" said Edmund as they stood a short distance from the gate, which was guarded by eight well-cut spear-carriers.

"Just watch a little," Peter murmured, stepping backwards into the crowd so as to draw less attention to himself. Lucy and Edmund did the same, though Lucy occasionally now had a hard time seeing over the people who would pass by.

Watching a little turned out to be invaluable. After a short while, a richly dressed couple approached the gates and displayed a piece of paper, which seemed to be some sort of ticket in. Lucy speculated out loud that it was a wedding invitation, and her brothers agreed this was likely. In any case, the four guards on the outside of the gate gave a signal to the guards inside it, who undid the many locks and latches and dragged the tall, thick iron bars back to let the couple in. After they'd left, the gate was again locked and the guards resumed their stiff, attentive positions, watching the crowd with looks of distaste and suspicion.

"We could get in by river again," Edmund suggested as they now walked along the perimeter of the wall. They were examining the river again, where it resurfaced more shallowly and trailed under the stone wall of the castle to fork out into a sort of half-moat within the gardens. A bridge spanned it on the inside of the gate, but out here, there was only a series of planks fastened into the ground over the unsteady earth that hid the river just beneath.

"That won't work," said Lucy as she looked more carefully. "Look, the grille is much to narrow."

This was true. They had barely squeezed through the grille in the Wall, and the bars of this one were much closer together. Not even Lucy would have been able to slip through.

On the east side of the castle wall they discovered something new – a second, smaller gate, guarded by only a guard inside and a guard out, where an irregular trickle of uniformed men and women were passing. Women with large baskets of laundry or lists clutched in their hands hurried past the guards, who only looked over their garb and opened the gates for them, while men carted broken furniture or led horses out into the city. The three of them observed a little while until the sentry seemed to grow suspicious of them and they deemed it a good time to leave.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Lucy asked her brothers as they headed back towards their tavern. Both nodded, Edmund with a smirk and Peter with a sort of anxiousness in his eyes, but it was nothing new and so both his siblings ignored it.

Lucy let a smile play on her face and wondered if there would be a uniform small enough for her.


	38. Thirty Eight

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.

* * *

They slept that night in the tavern, and probably would have slept through all the next day if Peter had not thought to ask one of the maids to wake them up just a few hours after sunrise. Edmund normally would have complained about this, but the importance of their mission and the shortage of time seemed to hold his tongue. After breakfast, they geared up, this time including their newly fresh (if not quite shining) armor, and headed out into the city again.

Lucy kept her eyes and ears open. Though of course she was already predisposed to dislike King Valin, given that he was forcing her sister into marriage, she had the feeling no one else was particularly fond of him either, and was keen to know if this was true. As she strode through the cobblestone streets between her two brothers, she watched the way the shopkeepers looked at the royal guards who stood on every other street corner, the tone of voice in which the king's name was used between customers, all clues to the peoples' disposition towards their king. As far as she could tell, it wasn't favorable.

"Look a' this," one plump woman was complaining to another, showing her a large stain on the front of her dress. "Was me best dress. Now if the cleaning wizards ha'n't all been summoned to th'king's castle, then mebbe I c'd get it clean. Woulda cost me but a bronzer."

"Aye, but they 'ave, so y'd best try t'get it out y'self," said her companion with a sigh. "Good luck t'ye, Morrie."

"All the wizards," mused Lucy to Edmund, who was nearest and probably most predisposed to be suspicious about it. "What could one man need with all the wizards in a country?"

"To amuse his wedding guests," muttered Edmund back. "I don't know, Lu, do you think it's something more serious?"

"I don't know," said Lucy, frowning. "But…why would he even want to marry Su? That doesn't make sense to me. Do you want to marry every girl who appears in your jousting tournaments?"

"Not really," replied Edmund, raising an eyebrow. He glanced over at Peter, who was listening but not participating yet. "But you know…loads of people in Narnia wanted to marry Su, too. Remember that creepy lord from Galma? Some will even go to kind of desperate measures. It's her own fault for being too gosh darn beautiful. Keeps Peter and I busy keeping the boys away."

Lucy laughed out loud, looking up at the blue sky. A few clouds were threatening, but not many, and any kind of rain wouldn't be in for another few days.

"Oh, you laugh now, but someday we'll have to do it for you too," Peter told her, nudging her side playfully.

"I can beat them off myself, thank you," said Lucy, sticking out her tongue, and her brothers laughed too.

"Look!" Edmund said suddenly, pointing over to the center of the square they'd just entered. On a pedestal in the center was a larger-than-life statue of a very stupid looking man, well-built and broad chested but with a ridiculous moustache and a stance that looked as though if he puffed his chest out any more, you could pop it with a pin. It was quite silly-looking.

"You don't suppose that's King Valin," said Peter, raising his eyebrows.

"I do suppose, actually," Edmund replied. They skirted around it, and Lucy stifled a laugh as she saw a few children take turns lobbing small rocks up above it, trying to get it inside his oversized crown. A moment later, a few royal guards charged down after them, but the giggling kids disappeared into an alleyway and were lost. Silently cheering for them, Lucy turned back and they continued on towards the castle.

"There," Peter whispered into her ear suddenly, when the castle was fairly close by and the banners were visible above the other buildings. "Look."

Lucy followed his discrete pointing, and saw one of the uniformed castle maids carrying a large, floofy fur coat down a lane, towards a shop above which a sign hung: "Christie's Clean, Non-Magical Cleaning."

Edmund frowned.

"Lu…didn't that lady back in the market say all the cleaning wizards or summat had been summoned to the castle?" he checked.

"Yes, yes, she did say that," Lucy said, frowning as well.

"So why would the maids need to bring the cleaning out?"

"Because the cleaning wizards are busy," Peter said. "In any case, I wasn't worried about that, I just meant we should try and get her uniform. She looks about your size, Lucy. But ah…I think that would probably be your job and not Ed's or mine. That could create a very awkward situation."

"I have a plan," said Edmund, and quickly bent down to whisper something in Lucy's ear. She smiled craftily and nodded and a second later, had hurried back into the market with a few silver coins.

When she'd found a suitable dress, she paid the exorbitant price and quickly changed into it in a back alleyway, leaving her armor on the ground for her brothers to collect after she was done. In the market, she made a second purchase, and intentionally spilled a large amount of the flask's contents on her dress, leaving an ugly red-purple stain. Then, garbed in a long, flowing, velvet gown of a pale pink with yellowish stones glittering about the hem and neckline, she put on a haughty expression and marched back to the cleaner's.

"Step aside, I have business!" she demanded to her brothers, enjoying the acting. They pretended to look disgruntled and stepped away from the maid, who they'd been chatting up (it was hard not to laugh at how the nervous girl was blushing every time Peter said half a syllable). Lucy stepped up to the maid and showed her the stain on her dress.

"I demand you have this cleaned at once," she said sternly. "And I demand you provide me with something to wear while it is done."

"M'am, I…I'm only here to serve the wedding guests," said the maid nervously. Lucy drew herself up to her full height, at which Edmund had to stifle a laugh behind her, and glared up into the maid's eyes.

"And just who do you think _I _am?" she asked. "Now hurry, or I shall report you to the king!"

"Yes m'am," said the maid quickly. "But I…I haven't got anything for you to wear…"

"Then you'll give me your own dress," said Lucy, as if it were obvious.

"But…"

"No buts, you may stay in the cleaner's and wait while it is done."

The maid bit her lip but nodded glumly, and Lucy softened a bit.

"After it is cleaned, you may have the dress, dear," she said, patting her arm, and the girl looked as if Christmas had come early, or when no Christmas had been expected at all.

"Oh, thank you, m'am!" she said, taken completely aback. "Honored to serve you, m'am, right this way!"

She and Lucy headed off towards the cleaners, but the young queen couldn't help but make one more remark.

"But don't let me catch you talking to such coarse, uncivilized men again," she said with a haughty toss of her head. "They'll only break your heart, such folk. Best to keep your distance from their like."

As the door shut, she could hear indignant laughter ringing behind her.


	39. Thirty Nine

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. A note - school started and it's hard to get stuff done. Also, the first assignment I turned in to my English teacher this year, of which I was quite proud (it's my most recent drabble, "The Bluebottle") was totally shot down by her, and feeling lousy does not induce good writing. So sorry.

* * *

When she had put on the uniform and was satisfied that it was suitable to her shape, she left the building and found her brothers waiting in an alleyway to the right of the cleaners'. They had retrieved her armor and her other things, a few of which she now took back – her cordial, which she tucked into her apron pocket, her dagger, which was discretely tucked into her stocking, beneath the billowy folds of the elaborate uniform, and at her brothers' insistence, the two rings. She did not want them, nor did she intend to use them in any case – returning to Narnia with none of her siblings would seem almost more terrible than never returning at all – but she knew neither of her brothers would have used them, either, and so it was only to sate their overprotective tendencies that she took them. 

"Now Lu, I know you're very brave, but don't try to be a little hero just yet," Peter told her sternly, looking very much like he disapproved of the whole operation but didn't know what to do about it. "Just try to snoop around and find out where Su is, and if you can, where her gifts are. Can you manage that?"

She nodded earnestly, a little excited that she would get to be the one to adventure this time.

"What will you be doing?" she asked him curiously.

"Well, obviously Ed and I have no way in yet, so we haven't got many options," said Peter. "But if we find a way in, then we might come in after you to help. At the end of the day, we don't want to have to stay in this place overnight, and I would hope we could be gone by then, so if it's getting late, we'll regroup again right here. By late, I mean nightfall. So if the sun starts to set and we still haven't got Su, leave the castle and come back here. If any of us isn't here by the time the sun has fully set, we'll assume they've been found out and act accordingly. Then…"

"What does 'act accordingly' mean?" Edmund interrupted, frowning suspiciously. Peter blinked at him.

"Well, for example, if you didn't come back, then I would send Lu back to the tavern and…"

"Bloody king," grumbled Edmund, rolling his eyes.

"…and I'd come after you," Peter finished, undeterred.

"What he means is that we'll play it by ear," said Lucy to Edmund, though of course it was not what their brother had meant, just what they would force him to mean if the need arose. Satisfied, Edmund nodded, and when Peter shrugged hopelessly, the three of them set off towards the castle gate, keeping to the back streets so as to avoid attention – a castle maid talking to two strange men might be considered odd, and they didn't want to imperil Lucy's quest.

"Now I need to ask you two to take me seriously on this next bit," Peter said with a heavy sigh as they progressed. His siblings nodded, knowing that when he meant it, he meant it.

"What is it, Peter?" prompted Lucy.

"Please only reveal yourself if it looks as if the very worst is to happen," Peter said quietly. "Whatever danger you think someone else is in…unless it is the very worst kind of danger, don't acknowledge that you even recognize him or her. I understand that we all want to protect each other, but the best way we can do that is to work together and not put ourselves in danger. Can you stick to that?"

Edmund nodded and touched his right hand to his left shoulder in a Narnian soldier's gesture of promise. Lucy, not a soldier herself, only nodded gravely, and knew it would be enough.

"All right, then, Lu," Peter said as they reached the end of the back streets. He pulled his sister to him in a brief hug, kissed her cheek and sent her off into the street. "Good luck!"

"We'll see you soon," Edmund called after her after grabbing a hug of his own. She smiled, gave a wave, and then they had disappeared behind her into the crowd.

Though she hadn't ever done anything really official, Lucy had always loved make-believe, a love which had grown up into a love of the theatrical arts. When the Narnian court actors had regrouped, they had once put on a little show for their new monarchs, and no one had been more delighted and enchanted than Lucy, who had sat on the edge of her seat the whole time and gasped and clapped and been completely overwhelmed with admiration. She herself was no paltry actress, and now, it seemed, her skills were to be put to the test. She had done well as the haughty lady of the court – could she now make a convincing enough maid to be allowed inside?

She approached the guard at the side gate and made a small curtsy, as she'd seen the other servants do upon entry and exit.

"What's yer business?" asked the outside guard confusedly. "I don't remember seein' yuh before."

"Laundry maid, sir," she said respectfully, keeping as wide-eyed and innocent as possible. She was barely sixteen, and knew that the old puppy eyes still worked just as well as when she'd been eight – especially on her oldest brother.

"Where's your laundry?" asked the other guard, whose accent was less pronounced. He was on the inside of the gate, but had taken an interest in the new development. "Bit strange to have a laundry maid without her laundry, eh?"

"I dropped it off at the cleaner's, sir, I'm on my way back in," she said with another curtsy.

"And yer basket?" the first guard asked suspiciously.

"I didn't have a basket, sir, I was carrying a coat only, a wedding guest's," she replied, using the identity of the earlier maid to her advantage. "It had a wine stain on it. You must remember. It was a big white coat, fluffy. You _must_ remember."

"Ah, I think I do remember her," said the second guard to the first. "Remember? Lady Cashlyn's coat, it was."

"If y'say so," said the first guard, and the second began to undo the latches. Giving a silent, undetectable sigh, Lucy curtsied one more time and slipped through into the courtyard.

There was something odd about the gardens, probably as a result of all the silly magic that had been put on them. Lucy didn't know how magic worked here – in Narnia, it was all from natural sources; it could only be controlled to the degree that the tree or river or sunbeam wanted to be controlled, and you couldn't use it without its consent – but here, it could work entirely different. But however it did work, Lucy couldn't help but keep away from the grass, which though it appeared healthy, was too vivid a green to be natural and seemed rather strained somehow, like it was being asked to be more than it wanted to be. The trees groaned under a crop of fruit not intended for the season or the quantity, and the water in the fountains to her right moved far too quickly from basin to basin, as if it were running away from something. The place had a rather frenzied, unhappy feel to it.

But whatever Lucy noticed, the lords and ladies didn't seem to mind it at all. As she hurried towards the inner doors, intent on finding Susan's gifts and hopefully Susan herself, she was passed gradually by a group of fancily-dressed ladies, giggling like schoolgirls though they looked past their forties.

"And did you _hear?"_ one was exclaiming to her companions in rapid-fire. " He told Lady Rhoda that he'd heard from the Baronness that Lord Filton was actually intending to marry the Duke's daughter Agna! That _hag!_"

They all burst into shrieking laughter, clutching one another for support, and Lucy cringed and hurried by. She was almost past them when one reached out and grabbed her arm rather roughly, the woman's long, painted nails digging into her shoulder. She bit her lip to keep from saying anything out of character.

"Yes, m'am?" she answered politely, dipping another curtsy. She remembered now why they'd asked their own servants at the Cair to stop doing it – it looked silly and hurt your knees after a while.

"Tell me something, dearie," she said, turning Lucy to face the gate, where a dark-haired lord was gaining admittance into the place with his invitation. "How old do you suppose that young thing over there is?"

Realizing the lady was referring to the lord, Lucy stopped to look carefully. Abruptly, she had to bite her tongue quite hard to keep from smiling as Edmund was finally admitted. He cut quite a dashing figure in the fine clothes he'd acquired, and looked rather older than seventeen.

"Perhaps twenty, milady," said Lucy politely. "Though I'm a poor judge myself."

"And his name?" asked the lady, who was still holding onto her; it was quite uncomfortable in many ways, and Lucy could feel the clutched arm going numb, one them being the lady's apparent interest in her brother.

"I'm not sure, milady," she said. "I've only just come in for the wedding, see. I've not had a chance to learn such things."

"Well, be a dear and give him this for me," said the lady, pressing an embroidered handkerchief into Lucy's hand. Her voice dropped low and honeyed. "And tell him he'd be welcome in my chambers at any time."

Revolted, Lucy quickly curtsied and made a beeline for her brother. Behind her, she sensed the lady patting her graying hair and heard her giggle yet again, this time with her companions as well.

"My lord," she said to Edmund as she stepped into his path, and went through the usual formality. He regarded her coldly, a true master of espionage – Peter was too honest to be good at such things. "The lady yonder bade me give you this." She handed him the perfume-soaked handkerchief and he let his gaze wander deliberately to the gossiping ladies before turning his attention back to her.

"I should have to say I'm flattered, and yet at the same time, completely repulsed," he said in a cold, emotionless tone, as if he were rebuking her, though his brown eyes twinkled gaily in contrast to his voice. "You may return it with my apologies, for I must quickly go and find other garb before the man to whom this belongs alerts the guards that he lost his wedding invitation and his clothes gambling with strangers. I should not wish to be around when it happens."

"Point taken, sir," said Lucy, curtsying and taking the kerchief back. Another person was now passing within earshot, so instead of saying what she was thinking, she said formally, "May your stay at the castle bring you what you wish."

With a nod, her brother was gone, and Lucy turned in a hurry to complete her chore and get on with her search.


	40. Forty

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. Sorry about the slow update - it was my birthday and I got all busy! I'm seventeen now. :)

* * *

The woman seemed displeased to have her invitation so boldly rejected, but quickly engrossed herself discussing more interesting matters with her peers. Lucy was about to leave when she caught on that they had moved onto the topic of the king's bride-to-be.

"I heard she's quite odd," said one mousy-haired lady in a low, conspiratorial tone.

"I heard she's trained in combat!" exclaimed another, a blonde with hair taller than Lucy's head.

"Just as I said, odd."

"But the king seems determined to marry her," said the lady who'd entreated Edmund to join her before. "Why do you suppose he'd do such a thing? I heard she isn't even pretty."

Lucy smiled. Word-of-mouth always had its flaws.

"Perhaps he's just got bad taste," suggested someone. Lucy had fallen into step a ways behind them on the pretense of looking for something in the grass by the path.

"Well I hear he plans to give her a rather special gift," said the mousy-haired lady in a hushed voice. She waited to be asked to continue, which her companions did after a moment's hesitation. She leaned in close to them and said, as if it were the most shocking thing she'd ever heard, "A _weapon._"

There were exclamations of surprise from the surrounding ladies.

"Impossible!" one declared.

"Not impossible at all, I hear he's presenting her with her very own bow and feathers!" said the blonde.

"Arrows," corrected another quickly, and the blonde waved her off.

"I hear they're magic," piped in Edmund's admirer. Lucy still felt rather ill at the sound of her voice. But this had been valuable information, and she turned to inconspicuously walk back towards the building. Susan's bow and arrow were to be given back to her at the wedding ceremony. This was crucial. She would find out where they were being kept, something she did not expect the ladies of the courtyard to know, and retrieve them. With them would be the horn, and they could call upon help, if the need arose. Excitement ran through her and she turned, tucking something imaginary into her apron pocket and rising in triumph, as if she'd found what she was looking for. Then she made a beeline for the castle.

Inside, it was even more splendorous than out, but again, it rang of falseness and felt unnatural to Lucy, who had always been rather attuned to such things. The tapestries on the wall were obviously not handmade, for on close inspection, they were _so _perfect that not a stitch could be seen, and the sculptures had been worn down so thoroughly that not a mark of the chisel could be seen on them. There was a technical perfection to the decoration, but it lacked any feeling of celebration or artistry. Lucy much preferred the Cair's more sparse, but also more earnest decoration.

Lucy, figuring that her sister's gifts would be with the other wedding presents, resisted the temptation to go and find her sister (which was indeed a great one) and quickly formulated a plan. She found a broom closet, and set about dusting the entryway purposefully, paying special attention to all the statues. She found she rather enjoyed it, and one of the overseers, upon passing her, actually remarked on the enthusiasm of her work and gave her a solemn nod of approval before moving on. A few guests moved through once or twice, including Edmund, who was engaged in easy conversation with another elder Lord. He had always been the most glib of them, and here it was paying off. He didn't even pass his sister a look as he swept by, but she knew he had seen her.

Finally, a lady in fine clothes swept inside the castle while three servants with their arms full of bags tottered after her. Noticing one fine box of a bright pink and topped with a silver ribbon, Lucy approached the man who was carrying it and set her duster on a nearby table.

"Present for the king, sir?" she asked expectantly. He grunted and nodded, and she cheerfully said, "I'll take it up to the gift room for you."

He dropped it into her arms gratefully, and when her duster was under her arm, Lucy set away as quickly as possible before they could ask her about the castle or the celebration. She knew too little to risk being questioned. She set up the first flight of stairs she found, and after a moment, glimpsed one of the overseers conversing with another maid in a corridor. She waited politely a minute, then when their business was finished, stepped in to intercept him.

"Excuse me, sir," said Lucy, dipping her knees. "I only just came in yesterday, to help prepare for the ceremony, and I haven't been told where the gift room is. Could you perchance give me directions?"

The man did without questioning her at all, and Lucy set off for her destination, which she found without much trouble. It was on the third floor, tucked away in a side corridor with two guards posted at it, but apparently she was the sort of thing that happened regularly; they only opened the door and nodded her through.

This room was not splendorous in decoration. In fact, it was totally empty, with plain, strong stone walls and not a single window, but its contents were almost enough to take Lucy's breath away. The place was absolutely stuffed with gifts – packages of eye-burning colors and too much ribbon, enormous boxes and long tubes and all manner, all covered in paint and stones and all kinds of hideous decoration. Lucy dropped the pink box in a spare space and knew she had a tiny bit of time to look before the guards grew suspicious. However, she didn't have to look long.

The one piece of furniture in the room was a stone pedestal, on which rested a long, thin, silver-painted package. It had obviously been enchanted, because it sparkled in a distracting way, but it was exactly the size of box to carry Susan's bow (if it were unstrung) and quiver. Though she knew she wouldn't be able to sneak it out past the sentries, Lucy wanted to be sure it was what she thought, and waded through the sea of presents to reach out for it. But when her hands neared it, abruptly they felt as if they'd been thrust into a burning fire, and she let out a small gasp and jumped backwards, tumbling down into the mash of boxes.

A second later and the guards burst in at the noise. But Lucy had thought quickly, and had looked at her hands immediately to tell if there was any evidence of wrongdoing. There was not. And so she clutched her knee and whimpered softly.

"I'm so sorry," she said to the guards, her big blue eyes filling with tears. "I've slipped and hurt my knee. I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry."

Moved by pity, one of the guards, a slim fellow with a long nose, pushed aside a few gifts to kneel beside her and check her knee for damage. Finding that she'd probably just twisted it, he and his companion helped her to her feet and she limped very convincingly out of the room, thanking them profusely. The second she was out of sight, she hurried off again. Taking the bow was not an option yet. Now was the time to find Susan.


	41. Forty One

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.

* * *

Lucy accidentally found the king before she found her sister.

She had been hurrying around a corner when very abruptly, she nearly ran into a small group of people, all but one of whom were guards, and for a minute she had been so shocked that she had done nothing at all. Then she had realized who the other person must be.

He looked a little like the statue in the square, but less tall and not as strong-looking. He had shining chestnut brown hair and a perfectly trimmed moustache, and a rather large nose that curved over his thin, pursed lips. A look of perpetual irritation or disdain seemed etched on his face, and Lucy wondered if he looked so cranky because the golden crown on his head was too heavy – it certainly looked it. She wondered how he kept his head upright. She was just getting on to noticing his rather extravagantly fine clothes when one of the guards barked at her,

"Have you no respect? On your knees for the King of Caelan!"

Gasping out a quick apology, Lucy dropped to one knee in an instant with her face to the floor.

The king and his guards swept by, and Lucy heard him snapping at them all the way down the corridor. When her heart had slowed enough, she got back to her feet and resumed her movement, but her mind stayed on the king, the man who was forcing her sister to marry him…

Suddenly, she heard people talking in a nearby chamber and stopped frozen to listen.

"Excuse me," a male voice was saying, muffled through the stone wall. "I've been sent to relieve the guard at the future queen's room, but I've lost my way. Could you tell me where to go?"

Lucy couldn't believe her luck, and listened carefully to the directions that followed. Then, when the guard left the room, she snuck after him to follow, keeping a safe distance behind but walking very purposefully so that anyone else might think she had quite an important job to attend to. No one questioned her, and soon she was at the foot of the East Tower and climbing the stairs, past each level, thankful that her boots were soft enough not to make too much noise.

As she climbed, she sought for an excuse to be visiting what was obviously a heavily-guarded area of the castle. With a wedding in the air, Lucy knew how chaotic things must be, and decided to use this to her advantage. Another maid passed her on the stairs on the way down, and they both smiled at one another in greeting. Perfect – others of her like had been here. As she neared the top, she could hear the guard who'd asked directions talking to the other guards, but couldn't hear what he was saying. They seemed to be having a quarrel of some sort.

"The king gave orders," she could hear one saying vehemently. "We're the ones on duty, and we're on duty until the mid-afternoon relief is. You aren't a part of that watch and you're much too early. Now be off, or I'll report you!"

"Pardon me, captain," said the guard Lucy had been following – and she cringed, recognizing the voice. She crossed her fingers and prayed her brother would prove a better liar than usual, lifting her skirts to step up. "But I'm a new recruit, here, and I was told to go up and join this watch, for experience. To learn from you."

"I see," said the first voice, and Lucy could hear the self-satisfaction in it. He was flattered, which of course had been Peter's intention. She climbed the top step and now could see down the short stone hallway to the door, a sturdy oak structure by which two armed guards stood, one half a head taller than Peter and one a touch shorter with black, slick hair. Standing back, she waited politely with her face to the floor.

"Let him watch with us," said the black-haired guard to his captain. Lucy thought he looked rather suspicious about it still, and grew slightly nervous. "It couldn't hurt."

"I suppose not," said the captain, and he touched two fingers to his breastbone formally. Peter copied the gesture, which seemed to satisfy them, and he took his place with the other two. How this was to help, Lucy wasn't sure, but she wasn't about to ask him in front of anyone else. As the three men were now looking at her expectantly, she stepped forward in front of them with her hand in her apron pocket, as if she were carrying something.

" Delivery from the tailor's," she said politely, curtsying. The captain squinted suspiciously.

"I don't see any delivery," he said, looking her up and down.

"Part of the bridal costume, sir," said Lucy with a small, nervous smile, though the nervousness was more because it was in-character than because she was nervous. This was thrilling – a real adventure. The danger only made it more exciting, though she did honestly want her family safe.

"Show us," said the black-haired guard, holding out his hand. Lucy had seen ahead to this, and delicately replied,

"It's not the sort of thing a man ought to be interested in," she said with a raised eyebrow. "If he's not to wed the lady."

"Oh," said the guard, his face turning quite a deep shade of red. "Right then. Well."

Peter's eyes were twinkling and she fixed him with a cold look, as if offended by his light on the subject, but it was more to remind him to keep his act.

"In you go," said the captain, and drew back the bolt – Lucy noticed it had newly been added on the outside of the door, to keep someone in, and suppressed a shudder before giving her polite thanks and moving inside. There was another door here, but it was neither guarded nor locked, and the room she was in seemed to be some sort of antechamber in which visitors could wait. She knocked.

"What is it now?" came a voice from inside.

Lucy's heart nearly leapt right out of her chest. _Susan!_


	42. Forty Two

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. I'm sorry for the delay on this chapter - a few personal issues have come up.

* * *

"Delivery from the tailor's, m'am," she replied, knowing she could be heard through the other door, which had shut behind her. The current room was lit with some sort of overly bright overhead light, probably magical.

"Another one?" muttered her sister's voice from the other side, and though the door was a little too heavy for Lucy to hear her moving, she could just sense Susan moving closer, moving to the door, soon to see her. She suddenly hoped Susan would have the sense not to exclaim over her, as they would be overheard.

The door swung open.

There stood Susan, hale and healthy, her dark hair swept up behind her ears and tumbling down her shoulders, dressed in a fine velvet gown. At the sight of her visitor, her eyes opened wide, but Lucy quickly put her hand to her lips to silence her.

"I'll need to check measurements," she said loudly, to excuse what she intended was to be a fairly lengthy encounter. Then she shut the door behind her and drew Susan into the chamber. She noticed that in no way did her sister appear to be ill-accommodated; the room was spacious and impressively furnished with a canopied bed, a full fireplace and a great assortment of rugs, tables and chairs. A door off to the side presumably led into some kind of bath chambers, and in the corner was a stone wardrobe with a series of mirrors around it. Lucy led Susan there, as it was furthest from the outside door.

The instant they'd reached the corner, Susan burst out in surprise.

"_Lucy!"_ she exclaimed. "How…how in the world did you come to be here? What are you _doing_?"

"It's a very long story," said Lucy, careful to keep her voice at least a little low, just in case. "I'm hoping we'll have time to tell you la…"

"We?" Susan interrupted, overcome with surprise. Her hand was over her heart, and it was clear she was breathing quite quickly. "Peter and Edmund? Are they here too?"

Lucy nodded and couldn't help but reflect her sister's relieved smile with a proud one of her own.

"Peter's posed as a guard just outside your door," she told Susan in a low voice, glancing at it. "Ed's pretending to be a lord. And I'm here. We're here to rescue you, Su!"

"But how did you even know I needed rescuing?" Susan asked in bewilderment, pulling a chair over for Lucy and sitting herself down on the stool. Lucy noticed that when she'd mentioned Peter, Susan's eyes had flown to the door in hope.

"Well, when…when Peter came back to the Cair, and he was so…so wrong, you know, after that, Aslan came to us," Lucy explained. "He gave us these magic rings that let you travel between the worlds. And so we looked around until we found you, basically. It's much more complicated than that of course but we're here now and we should get back home before we go into any detail, right? We need to get you out of here."

"I won't disagree with that," Susan said with a sour look at the things around her. Lucy had a feeling she'd been there a very long time. "How did you all get in here?"

"This and that," said Lucy. "Tricks. What's important is we're in. Oh Su, it's so good just to see your face again." Her face broke out into another relieved smile.

"I never thought I'd see you again," Susan said, and Lucy thought there might have been tears in her eyes. "I've been holding out as best as I could, but time was getting so short, I'd lost hope of ever seeing Narnia again, of ever seeing you all again."

"So had we, at first," said Lucy softly, putting her hand over her sister's. "But Aslan told us there was a way to bring you back."

"I didn't doubt that he would call me back in time, but I was worried I'd be here quite a while before you came," said Susan. "But I know you're in character, Lu, and I don't want to keep you too long or they'll get suspicious. What can I do to help?"

Lucy straightened her skirt and considered this. Seeing her sister after so long and after such a rough time seemed to have blitzed all other thoughts from her head. But she collected herself and decided to go with the request Edmund would have had.

"Tell me everything you know about this castle, the king, and the wedding," she said.

Susan blinked.

"Well," she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "I've spoken to the king a number of times, but you learn more about him from the people around him than from speaking to him yourself. He's a very ambitious man. He wants people to see him as a good king, but he isn't, so he tries to compensate for it by being a showy king. You've probably guessed that from what you've seen of the castle so far. I've managed to keep his bloody magicians away from my chambers so far, but I've heard other rumors about them, too. Nastier ones."

"Oh?" said Lucy, prompting her sister. "Go on."

"I've heard – no, I know. I'm part of this, I ought to know," said Susan. "I don't know how much of the city you've seen, but I watch from my window and I hear from the servants. The people are suffering. The cities can't hold the growth of the people and their resources are strained. It all could be fixed, of course, with some reorganization and good critical thought, but Valin has this idea that critical thought doesn't make people think you're a good king. And so he's going for another approach."

Lucy listened carefully, her dislike of the man growing.

"He's called all the wizards and magicians to the castle to gather under his direction," said Susan, her voice low. "He's set them on finding a way to enter other worlds, to find new resources and more land and a more hospitable environment than this walled-in city. Most of the magicians are simpler than pudding; they're cleaners and tinkers and they fix things or some of them are just students. But a few of them have some real talent, and he's commanding them to make him a conqueror. The rest he puts up to his cheap magic tricks. And now you can probably guess where I come in."

"No, I don't," said Lucy, puzzled. "You're no magician, Su. Why does he want you?"

"It's not me he wants," said Susan gravely. "They've already found a way into another world, Lucy. They've found a way into Narnia."


	43. Forty Three

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. Wish me luck, guys, here I go.

* * *

This news was so thoroughly startling to Lucy that she couldn't even say anything to it, so her sister took the opportunity to continue, her face serious and grim.

"I am merely an excuse, Lucy," said Susan, putting her hand on her sister's shoulder and looking her in the eye. "I am a trophy. He cares much more for the wedding than he does for the marriage. I am his symbol of triumph, because he took me from Narnia, which he intends to conquer after he's presented me as evidence to the people on our wedding day. Narnia is in grave danger."

Lucy finally found her voice, the gravity of the situation still somewhere far above her. She couldn't quite process this terribleness.

"But…we can't let that happen," said Lucy, horrified.

"No," Susan agreed emphatically. "We can't, Lucy. But if you hadn't noticed, I'm under constant guard, my weapons have been confiscated and I've no means of escape that won't result in death. I'm not exactly in a position to do anything. But you are."

"What do I do?" asked Lucy, a bit weak in the knees. Susan must have some idea. The hope that that thought gave her quickly slipped away at the blank look on her sister's face.

"I'm sorry," said Susan. "I don't really know. All I can tell you is what I know and hope you find a way. Trust your instincts, Lucy. You've always been good at knowing what to do. If it helps, King Valin has my horn. He wears it on his belt. He believes it's a medal he's won from me for standing by and letting his guards arrest me. He can't make it sound, though; I've heard him try and all that comes out is this pitiable little whine."

"Well good, it oughtn't do anything for him," said Lucy. She sighed and rested her head against Susan's shoulder, seeking a temporary solace from all the trouble. "I'm glad you're not dead anymore, Su."

Susan let out a bemused laugh as she stroked her sister's hair.

"Dead?" she said confusedly. "I was never dead, Lu, what gave you that idea?"

"Aslan said you'd passed on from this world," said Lucy, frowning in perplexity. "And Peter said he saw you die."

"You know how melodramatic Peter can be," Susan smiled. "He probably thought he saw something he didn't. And Aslan didn't tell you I was dead, did he? I just passed on. Not willingly, but I did. But right now, Lu, you need to focus on saving Narnia. Don't worry about saving me."

"We'll do both," Lucy promised. Susan gave her a little squeeze.

"You should go," she said gently. "They'll get suspicious. It's so good to see you, Lu. Good luck."

Lucy nodded and reluctantly stood up. She kissed her sister's cheek and at last moved back towards the door, pulling it open and casting one last glance back at Susan. Then she had shut it, and she was once more within the tiny antechamber, in the darkness. She pulled open the second door.

"Excuse me, but will you please tell me what's behind that door?" said Edmund to her, looking very frustrated and regal in fine and fresh clothing. He gestured to the guards uncaringly. "These fellows won't even give me the courtesy of an answer."

"It's nothing of your concern, milord," Lucy said, curtsying quickly. She could sense Peter off to her right, and marveled at how close they all were, yet how far that truly was. Edmund must have come up on a pretense of exploration; they all obviously knew where Susan was being kept.

"You heard her," said the captain, frowning threateningly. Lucy began to move off towards the stairwell, but someone else was coming up it – she could heard the footsteps. Seconds later, a very tall, broad man had stepped up, dressed in guard's armor but with several flashy medals and badges pinned on the left breast of his tunic. He was advancing towards the other guards.

"Ah, the Royal Commander," said Edmund, turning towards him with an air of disdainful relief. "Your guard is quite rude. I merely asked what lay behind this door, not to see it, and have been treated most discourteously by your post. I presume you'll amend this straightaway."

The commander raised his eyebrows. Lucy felt she ought to leave, but couldn't bring herself to do so. The moment was tense.

"Certainly, my lord," he said after a long moment. He turned to the guard, who seemed intimidated by him, and all but Peter shrank back a bit. Lucy cringed, wishing her brother would put aside bravery for conformity, if only for the moment. The commander advanced towards them, pacing a few strides before he came to stand aside from any of them. He looked to Edmund.

"Which of these men has so aggrieved you?" he asked. His voice was deadly calm.

Edmund, torn between endangering his brother and endangering the innocent, switched courses immediately.

"I am not a cruel man," he said quickly. "I should be much more satisfied by the answer to my question than by seeing any one of these men punished."

"The answer to your question is one I am sure you already know," said the commander coolly. Lucy did not see Edmund waver, but she sensed it. The commander began to pace again. "The question I have has an equally obvious answer. What would a young man such as your self be doing, hanging about a young lady's chambers?"

"I assure you, I knew nothing about any young lady," said Edmund, and in character, indignant color pooled in his cheeks. "And now that my question has been so kindly answered, I shall…"

"I have another question, though," interrupted the commander, stroking his short beard as if he had not heard a word Edmund said. He looked over at the guards, two of whom visibly shivered.

"What's that, sir?" asked the captain nervously.

The commander's eyes moved slowly, and Lucy's breath hitched in her throat as they settled on Peter.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" he asked, his eyes narrowed and dangerous. Everyone seemed to stiffen.

"New on the guard, sir, just came in for the wedding," said Peter smartly. "First day on the job."

Lucy relaxed, but the commander did not, and neither did the captain.

"Who trained you, soldier?" asked the commander, stopped in front of him. Lucy could see her brother slowly being drawn into a trap.

"Can't remember his name, sir," said Peter, improvising, and badly. "A short chap, with black hair and a moustache."

"Carrigan, perchance?" said the other guard uncertainly. "Sounds like him."

"That's the one," said Peter in relief, but the commander was not finished.

"Show me the king's salute, soldier," he demanded. And Peter could only stand, dumbfounded. Lucy and Edmund watched on in horror as the commander's eyes narrowed in satisfaction.

"Just as I thought," he said, sneering. "Guards – arrest this man."


	44. Forty Four

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.

* * *

Several things happened at once. Lucy's mind quickly matched sight with sound, and she determined that three men (the captain, the guard and Peter) had drawn swords, another (Edmund) had issued a command to drop their arms, and the last (the commander) had tapped one of the medals on his chest with his finger; it was emitting a strange, harsh, bell-like sound that seemed to be _in_ the air more than traveling through it. It made Lucy cringe.

Within seconds, the clash of steel on steel had sounded out into the corridor. Edmund's hand wavered by his sword as he struggled to obey Peter's order to stay disguised until the last. The guardsmen were men of strength and training, but Peter was a king and a soldier and a leader and on a level all of his own. With textbook precision he spun to meet each thrust and jab, Rhindon flickering in his hands, which dwarfed its hilt. The commander, watching the fight as Lucy was, though with much more passivity, at last drew his own sword and stepped in.

It was now three against one. Lucy and Edmund stood by, horrified, both aware that the other was struggling with the same question – to help or to stay hidden? Then suddenly, as Peter thrust his sword up to meet one of the commander's attacks, the guard dropped down into a crouch and slashed at his ankle. As he was unable to dodge without losing his balance, a hit scored deeply into his left shin, even though his heavy leather boot, and he was left with but one foot usable. The captain instantly dropped his sword and as Peter struggled to regain his balance, he shoved him against the wall and whipped out a short rope presumably with which to bind him. Lucy held her breath.

"In the name of the Lion, unhand him!" Edmund cried suddenly, unable to hold it in, his sword singing out into naked air.

The black-haired guard had only a second to react before the young king was upon him. Edmund was a dangerous fighter when he was angered, and he was truly angry now, his blade slashing at his enemy as he sought to protect his older brother. Lucy had seen them battle before, but the intensity with which her brothers were fighting testified to their desperation. They had come to help their sister and could not fail. As for Lucy, she could only clench her hands to her mouth in terror and watch on as the three guards worked to subdue them. Peter was hobbling, blood leaking out of the gash in his boot and dripping out onto the stone floor. But Edmund had taken up beside him, and often Peter's hand would descend on his brother's shoulder to balance himself.

Lucy had hoped that once Edmund had joined the fight, the guards could be quickly subdued. After all, her brothers were both extraordinarily skilled in combat. But the guards were well-trained, and Peter's injury inhibited them both, and in addition to all of this, the commander stood a good head taller than both and to parry his blows looked very painful to her. Lucy had just bent down to retrieve her own dagger and join the fight, thinking only a bit more was needed to tip the battle in their favor, when a new sound reached her ears – the pounding of many, many pairs of feet.

She got out of the way just in time, but while her feet moved sideways, her heart fell straight down. A swarm of palace guards erupted from the stairwell, charged down the short hallway and within seconds, Rhindon clattered to the floor alongside Edmund's own blade. Peter fell to the floor of his own accord, the bleeding worse than ever; Edmund swiftly dropped down to ease his landing and the two of them were pinned to the ground and restrained by several guards. Lucy could do nothing.

"Take them away," the commander ordered, sheathing his sword. The kings were roughly yanked to their feet, hands bound behind their backs, and with swords at their necks, marched back towards the stairwell. Peter let out a soft gasp of pain as he limped past her, but neither brother cast a glance her way. Her disguise was preserved. But now, she faced her task alone.

The marching footsteps faded in the stairwell. Lucy suddenly became aware that the commander was watching her, and tried to compose herself. But before she even had a chance to close her mouth, he had marched up quite close to her, staring down in a look of threat.

"What's happened in this corridor is to stay here," he said in a quiet, venomous voice. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes sir," she said, bowing her head and lowering her eyes to the floor. She curtsied quickly. "Understood, sir."

"We can't have our guests thinking our guards are thick enough to be deceived, can we?" said the commander. He took a small step back, but his size still made this uncomfortably close.

"No sir," whispered Lucy. Her throat constricted a little as her mind followed Peter and Edmund, doubtless into some dark prison, where any number of horrible things could be awaiting them. It had not yet sunk in yet. But already she felt the charm of danger fading, replaced by the terror of the reality that she was now quite alone in her quest. Susan could not aid her; Susan was a prisoner in luxury. Now Peter and Edmund could not lead her, could not even help her. Who knew if they would even see one another again? The enormity of her task bore down on Lucy and for a moment, she wondered if there was any way she could even achieve it.

"I'm glad you understand me," said the commander, and steered her to the stairwell. With tears in her eyes that she hoped he assumed were from the ladylike shock of seeing a real battle, she began to descend the stairs. Bloodspots marked every other step.

But Lucy was not of the type to despair long. She did not have Peter to lead her, but she had other ways to be led. She thought of Aslan's words to her brother – that he ought not to underestimate his siblings, that she and Ed were every bit as necessary as he. It was time to prove again that she was the Valiant – though at the moment, she felt not much besides lost.


	45. Forty Five

And lost she was, in more than one way. On entering, their goals had been rather vague, because they hadn't known much. Ignorance had made them hesitant to make any real plans. But now, loaded with a quantity of information her brain could scarcely hold, she had no one with whom to share it, and no idea how to put anything into action. As she descended the stairs, she made a mental list of the things that somehow had to be accomplished: rescue Susan, rescue Ed and Peter, expose King Valin, rescue Narnia.

It was a big list.

However, some things seemed more important at the moment. For instance, Susan was in no immediate danger, while Lucy had good reason to believe her brothers were. And if she could somehow delay Valin, then she had a better chance of finding help and saving her country. After all, she was only a little girl, and there was only so much she could do.

Lucy frowned. Only a little girl? No. She was a queen, and a queen of Narnia at that. The _valiant _queen of Narnia, even. And it was time to start thinking like it. Who was she to make excuses? Also to her advantage, Lucy remembered that she had a bit of advice dealing with tyrannical despots – or at least, with one of them, who had also been quite a bit scarier than Valin, less stupid and more evil. And the best way to deal with them was from the bottom up.

She remembered Mr. Tumnus – afraid, repressed, but at heart still set on defeating Jadis. And she remembered the children throwing rocks into the statue's crown. She remembered Mr. and Mrs. Beaver, passively resistant until she and her family came along, and then leaping at their chance to help. And she thought of the disgruntled magicians and the abundance of undoubtedly mistreated servants in the castle…

She did not want to return to the tavern tonight, not alone, and not when it would add hours and hours to the time it would take to do what she had to do. She needed to find people she could trust. She remembered a few of Edmund's warning words from the past; that she trusted too easily, that she could not see the darker side of human motivation, but right now, she had no choice. Lucy could not act alone to single-handedly defeat Valin, but she could act alone to rally others and bring about his downfall. And so she descended through the castle as far as she could, and followed her nose to the kitchens.

The moment she entered, she was needed.

"Oh, please, be a dear," said one plump lady hurriedly, dressed in a long and singed apron as she thrust a huge basket of steaming bread into Lucy's arms. "There's a lady up in the southeast tower who keeps demanding more fresh bread and cheese for her party but me old knee is acting up and I'm so dreadfully slow, if you could just…"

But Lucy had already given her a small smile, curtsied and headed back for the door. She found the party in the tower by the shrieking laughter of the young and spoiled, and when she silently bent to place the basket on their table, she received no recognition but a snide comment from one of the ladies on the state of her hair. Then she returned to the kitchens and set to working. The best way to find out what people thought was not, in fact, to ask them about it.

"I haven't seen you around before," said one dull-eyed young maid as she rolled up her sleeves and pushed her hands down into the hot water to help with the dishes. "Are you new here?"

"Yes, I am," smiled Lucy quietly. "I've been called in for the wedding, you see."

The other girl nodded mutely and turned her eyes back to the dishes.

"What's your name?" asked Lucy curiously, picking up a dish from the dirty stack and beginning to scrub it beneath the surface of the water.

"Danya," said the girl. She handed the cleaned dish off to another quiet maid next to her. Both looked tired, as though they had not slept properly in quite some time.

"Have you worked here long?" asked Lucy.

"Three years," said Danya, keeping her eyes to her task. Behind them, Lucy felt someone approach and turned to see a stern-lipped woman watching them closely. Knowing it was prudent to keep a low profile at the moment, Lucy obediently tipped her head down and handed off the clean dish to the other maid who was drying them.

"Be careful with those," said the overseer. And to Lucy's surprise she didn't sound harsh or condescending but merely worried. And not for the dish either. "His Majesty is particularly fond of that set."

Lucy nodded and picked up the next one with tenderness. When the overseer was gone, she leaned over to her companion and whispered,

"What would that mean?"

"Don't drop it," said the other maid, who was listening in.

"Arla was caned and let go for dropping one a few days ago," whispered Danya, biting her lip nervously as she handled the dishes with trembling hands.

"That's awful," Lucy frowned very softly. "It sounds as if they cared more for the dish than for her!"

The maids shrugged and continued to work. Lucy, deciding silence was now best, did so with them, and soon the job was done and they drifted off to find new tasks.

For a moment, Lucy's mind drifted back to the kitchens of Cair Paravel. There, windows to the outside let the pulsing heat of the oven escape to warm the small gardens just outside, producing something of a greenhouse, and the room itself was always full of laughter and playfulness. People chatted eagerly with one another as they worked and always, someone would be singing – usually off key. It was a place of community and good work, where nearly every person in the castle would appear at least once in a while to help out.

But this kitchen was quite different. Here, maids – and Lucy noticed that with the abundance of palace guards had come a shortage in male kitchen attendants – worked in near-silence, carefully and seemingly in fear of doing something wrong. No windows let out the oppressive heat of the giant wood-fueled oven, and so it washed over them all in waves. There was no singing and a great deal more hurrying, with messages from lords and ladies spilling out of the servants' lips. The people working all looked tired and worn. And Lucy didn't like it.

It was time to stir up some trouble.


	46. Forty Six

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.

* * *

She found the maid alongside whom she'd been working before. Though she knew it was risky to openly ask the kind of questions she needed to ask, she had a feeling most people in this kitchen would be keen to work against the king in any way possible. And so she slipped back in beside Danya and asked her first dangerous question.

"Where are the dungeons?" she whispered, taking up a fresh batch of dishes. Danya looked startled.

"In the cellar, obviously, but why?" she replied quietly. She seemed to sense Lucy's desire for secrecy; her voice was low so they wouldn't be overheard,

"Can you keep a secret?" Lucy asked. She glanced around subtly.

"When it matters," Danya replied, continuing to rub her hands through the suds and rinse the dishes, though she was going slowly as not to make noise that would cover up Lucy's speaking. The young queen sighed softly.

"I'm not a maid," she confessed in a whisper. When Danya seemed unimpressed by that particular secret, Lucy continued. "King Valin's bride to be…she is my sister. She doesn't want to marry him. My brothers and I are here to rescue her."

The maid's lack of a real reaction led Lucy to believe she wasn't taking this very seriously, so she tried again.

"I know it's hard to believe. But please, even if you don't believe me…I need to find a way to rescue my brothers. They've been captured by Valin's men. Do you know how to get to the dungeons?" Lucy begged softly.

Danya shook her head slowly, her eyes cast down into the dishes. "That's…risky. I'm not sure how to get down there safely…I hear the cells are well-guarded right now, because of the wedding and all that."

Lucy bit her lip in quiet despair. Then the maid spoke again.

"But," she said hesitantly. Lucy looked up. "I might know of someone who can help you."

Immediately, Lucy seized onto those words, and followed Danya's subtly pointed finger to another woman working at the bread table, a buxom young lady who smacked down the dough as if it had personally affronted her.

"Merre," Danya informed her softly, looking back down into the suds. "And…be careful. I don't know who are who you say you are, but no matter what…I wish you luck."

"Thank you," Lucy breathed sincerely. She finished drying the last dish and straightened out, walking with measured stride towards the other woman. She didn't want to attract attention to herself. When she reached the side of the table she hung back, knowing she shouldn't put her soapy hands into the dough.

Twenty minutes later, after some quick explaining, Lucy found herself on Merre's arm, heading through a back passageway that sloped slightly downward. As the older girl had explained, one of the dungeon guards was a flame of hers; he would usually let her get away with bringing people down into the area, with the right kind of persuasion. Glad she didn't have to do so herself, Lucy hurried to keep up with her guide's long stride. She didn't know quite what she was going to do once she found her brothers, but finding them was a first step. And the wedding – the wedding was tomorrow. She had to get them out of there and get them to Susan, in far less time than she had.

"Now I can probably buy you a half hour or so," Merre told her. She seemed to think this was a good game, and Lucy suspected she was deriving serious pleasure from the idea of messing with Valin's wedding. He was not a very popular man with his servants.

"Who keeps the keys in the dungeon?" asked Lucy, checking to be sure she had her dagger.

"All the guards have the keys to the cells in their block," said Merre. "There's one entrance to the dungeons, then several cell blocks. I couldn't tell you which your brothers will be in; you'll have to check them all until you find them. The guards to the individual blocks are posted at the entrances, but they patrol. It's dark enough down there that if you're careful, you might be able to sneak by unnoticed."

"I see," said Lucy. She bit her lip, nervous.

They slowed as they approached the last spiraling staircase down; at the bottom, several hallways branched towards what Lucy guessed were wine cellars based on the smell. Another, a darker hallway, was guarded by a single man whose eyes lit up at the sight of Merre.

After some wheedling – Lucy used the word delicately – he was rather too distracted with her and her comely body to even notice when the young queen of Narnia slipped through and into the dark. A smell she hadn't noticed over the wine began to filter into her nose; a foul mix of old blood and rot that made the bile rise in her throat. These were not the well-kept cells of Cair Paravel.

A single torch lit the way into a room that split again into four hallways – a guard stood at each. Lucy hung back in the shadows, trying to devise a way to get past just one of them. Crouching down, she pulled a button off her dress, a heavy metallic one, and carefully lobbed it behind the back of one of the guards and down his hallway. It skittered loudly, echoing in the silent, dank stone hallway, and immediately the guards turned to look towards it. With the agility of a cat, Lucy shifted around the corner and into the first hallway.

To her dismay, the first block contained empty cells. It seemed Valin didn't have much use for his dungeons – at least, not for common criminals. Lucy suspected there was another prison somewhere in the city, and that this must be for offenses committed within the castle.

In the near-dark, she crept as quickly and quietly as she could, searching for a way into the next block without using the hallway again. She couldn't risk that; they wouldn't fall for the same trick twice. As it was, they were probably on the lookout for someone anyway, since that button had been a foolish clue. Fortunately, she found a small, barred door in one wall and was able to quietly slide back the latch and let herself through. Though it was nearly too dark to see, she felt her way into a small tunnel whose stone walls felt slimy and unpleasant. Hoping she wouldn't have to explain what was inevitably about to get on her dress, Lucy got on her hands and knees and began to crawl.

The light soon disappeared behind her, but she carried on, until at last she saw another glimmer ahead. Shuffling along, she ignored the bumps on her head as it struck the stone above, then finally emerged into another room – in fact, she found that she had emerged into a cell. However, to her good fortune, its door was unlocked and it seemed unoccupied.

But as Lucy's eyes grew accustomed to the dark, she realized that she had been mistaken – it was occupied, after all.


	47. Forty Seven

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.

**I**** do have a very strange request, though.** If anyone feels up to it, I would absolutely love to have voice recordings of a few of the oneshots I've written - rather like a book on tape, if you know what I mean, only just with the shorter works. I know this sounds ridiculous, but if anyone is at all interested, please drop me a PM and I can give you my e-mail address. There's something really refreshing about hearing someone else's voice give life to a work of writing; I really appreciate the support I get from all of you, and I'd love to hear things how you hear them. Thank you so much.

* * *

She quickly stepped away from the figure in the corner, though she noticed a moment after that it was chained to the wall and couldn't have moved anyway. Why the door to this cell was open was beyond her, but she saw its inhabitant could have escaped anyway because of the manacles, and because he – she decided it was a man – looked as though he'd barely be able to stand on his own anyway.

"Hello?" she said nervously. The longer she waited, the more she could see; this man was dressed in rags, his sallow face cast in shadow. He shifted at the sound of her voice.

"Who's there?" asked a weary, raspy voice.

"No one," said Lucy quickly, heading for the cell door. She had to find her brothers – she didn't want to deal with a criminal at the moment. What if he had been put here for murder? She wished she'd never spoken in the first place.

"No, please, just a moment," the man suddenly intoned. He sounded quite hoarse, but beneath his voice Lucy heard something earnest, something a little desperate, and she had to stop.

"Who are you?" she asked him, pausing in the doorway.

"Garbage, you may as well call me," the man sighed, his voice bitter and cracked. "Once, I was a king, though."

"Why are you in this place?" Lucy asked, though she was anxious to move along. Still, she had a soft heart, and he was so clearly suffering. The man shifted dully in the corner.

"My brother could not share his throne. Most of the kingdom thinks I'm dead," he told her. "Please, tell me – what is happening here? What news from outside?"

"Wait, your brother…" Lucy said slowly, connecting the dots. "Who is your brother?"

"His Highness King Valin, of course," said the man. She could see the ghost of an ironic smirk on his gaunt face, though it was still quite dark in the cell, and suddenly she could see the resemblance. An older, sadder, wiser version of the man she'd encountered in the hall upstairs. He was thin and battered, but there was something regal about him anyway. What strange luck had brought her to his cell, she didn't know, but she realized that she had a duty to help him. But right now, her first duty was to her own family and her own country. She took a step towards the cell door, preparing to leave.

"Well…with any luck, King Valin will be off his throne soon," Lucy whispered. She wished she had something to give him – food, water, a weapon – but she had only reassurance. "I'm sorry, I haven't much time to explain, but your brother is planning to marry my sister against her will tomorrow. I'm tryi – going to rescue her. If you're telling the truth, I'll come back for you. This I promise."

"Who are you?" the enchained king asked, surprised by her bold words.

"Queen Lucy of Narnia," she told him, stepping out of the cell. "It's a very, very long story and I haven't much time. I need to find my brothers."

"I wish you luck in your quest, Queen Lucy," said the man, touching two fingers to his forehead and bowing his head to her. Even here in the dark, grimy cell, he looked grave and noble.

"Goodbye, King…" she paused, uncertain.

"Vareth," he told her, sighing. "Such a long time since I've used that name…"

"Goodbye, then, King Vareth," said Lucy. "And good luck."

She left the cell, hurrying through the dark towards the other cells, but it seemed he was the only one in this block. She searched for another door, like where the first had been in the other block, but she couldn't find one. She knew she probably had only about fifteen minutes until the guard at the entrance would be fully alert once more. Suddenly, she heard the king's voice from behind her again.

"If your brothers have been captured recently, they have been taken to the detention room," he called to her in a powerful whisper. Lucy did not like the sound of that. She returned to Vareth's cell quickly.

"Where?" she asked him, anxiety coiling tight in her stomach. Peter was already injured – how far would Valin go to ensure his wedding would go smoothly?

"It is a secret room," he told her, dark eyes weary. "I know it well. If you find me a way out of these shackles, I can take you there."

"Please, sir," she said, shaking her head. "I don't have time or a way. Can you tell me how to find it?"

He paused. After a long, long moment, he gave a resigned sigh.

"Six years I've been here," he muttered to himself despairingly. He looked up at her once again. "But I suppose I can wait a little longer. It's dangerous, young highness. If you are caught, they will certainly take you there too, and then we'll all be lost. But go back through this passage and back into the first chamber. Did you not wonder why no prisoners are kept there? It is not a prison but a passageway. In the centermost cell on the back wall – " – he indicated the side in their own block – " – you will find a tunnel dug into the back corner, covered by a dirt mat. Follow it, and you will find them. Godspeed, little Queen."

Unsure to trust him at first, Lucy decided she didn't have much of a choice.

"Thank you," she whispered, and crawled back into the stone tunnel between the blocks. The heels of her hands were raw and dirty by the time she reached the first block again, but perhaps it was fortunate she could not crawl faster, for just as she was about to step out into the walkway between the cells, she heard sounds from within and pulled back.

Just as Vareth had said, there was certainly some kind of passage in the center back cell, because two men were emerging from it, stepping out of the ground and dragging something behind them. With a muffled gasp, Lucy confirmed what she'd already dreaded – their burdens were bodies, one limp, the other hobbling behind one of the soldiers who'd come out of the hole. Without a doubt, they were her brothers.


	48. Forty Eight

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.

* * *

Lucy drew back further into the tunnel to avoid being seen, but not so far that she couldn't see what was going on in the cell block. From her hiding spot, she saw one of the guards unlock one of the cells and shove Peter inside – she could make out that her eldest brother was the upright one, though he was clearly in pain. A second later, the other guard had thrown in Edmund, who seemed to be unconscious, and the door was locked. With much clanking of footsteps, the guards left the room.

In the darkness, Lucy saw Peter roll Edmund onto his back, his hands shaking anxiously, though he tried to hide it. He was muttering something to himself or to his brother; Lucy had to strain her ears to catch any of it.

"I told you to keep your damn mouth shut," Peter murmured despairingly, ripping off the bottom corner of his shirt to wipe across Edmund's bloodied brow. He looked up a moment, as if searching for some strength he wasn't sure he had, then finally shook his head before returning to the task at hand.

Just as Lucy began to move forward out of the darkness, she heard Edmund reply, his voice very hoarse and weak, as if he'd been shouting.

"Yeah, I know, I know," he rasped, grimacing in pain. "I never do as I'm told."

Peter gave a weak chuckle and shook his head again. Lucy couldn't make out what injuries Ed had as she moved towards them. Just then, Peter caught sight of her.

"Who's there?" he demanded instantly, his voice ringing out into the block.

"Shhh, it's me," Lucy whispered, hurrying forward.

"Lucy?" asked Edmund from the ground. He tried to move his head to look at her but Peter's hand shot down to keep him from moving. The younger king groaned.

"Lu! How did you get in here?" Peter whispered. He glanced back to where the guards had come from, checking to see if they would come back.

"I don't have much time to explain, I have a friend who's distracted the guard," she whispered back. "Is Ed all right?"

"No, he's not," said Peter, just as Edmund said, "Yeah, I'll live." Both glared at each other.

Knowing that Peter was more likely to be right, Lucy reached for her cordial.

"It'll raise suspicion," Edmund objected weakly, hearing the squeak of the cap as Lucy unscrewed it.

"By the time they find out, Lu will be long gone," Peter told him, and took the cordial gratefully from Lucy to tip a drop to Edmund's unwilling lips. To her surprise, he also took a drink himself, and let out a deep sigh as it worked its magic. Lucy watched the younger of her brothers, whose face was slowly clearing of cuts and bruises; there was a sudden _pop _and his left leg seemed to snap back into place. She swallowed her nausea.

"What happened?" she asked softly, but Peter only shook his head as he handed the bottle back to his sister.

"That's not important. What do you know, Lu? What do we have to do? How can we help you?"

She bit her lip.

"That's a big question," she said uncertainly. But as quickly as she could, she told them all Susan had told her – that Valin planned to invade Narnia, that Susan was his proof of the existence of another world, that the end of their wedding was to be the beginning of a war.

"And what do they know?" she asked them when she was finished. She knew she had only minutes left.

"That I am High King of Narnia," Peter said gravely. Edmund cast his eyes away, and Lucy thought he might look ashamed. But Peter's hand came to rest gently on his brother's shoulder and the younger king relaxed slightly. Looking up at Lucy, Peter gave a bit of a regretful but nonetheless fond smile. "Ed was rather vocal in his defense of me."

Lucy remembered Ed's injuries and cringed for him.

"And what about you, Ed?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said from the ground, shaking his head. "I think they think I'm Peter's swordsma – "

Footsteps. Lucy stifled a gasp and quickly slipped away. She was halfway in the tunnel when the guard entered, and she froze to avoid attracting attention to herself. The guard marched up to her brothers' cell, casting a suspicious look into it, then put one hand on the bars and shoved his face up against them.

"Cut the chat," he snarled. "I keep a quiet watch."

Peter stared evenly back at him and said nothing. Between the guard's feet, Lucy saw Edmund flick his eyes to her, then to the guard's belt, and she saw the keys dangling off it. Obviously, the guard assumed the brothers were too injured to attempt to take them away from him, but Lucy was not in the same boat. Cautiously, she stepped forward out of the darkness. As she did so, she heard Ed begin to speak.

"When are we going to get some food in here?" he demanded. Peter gawked at him a moment, as did the guard. Undaunted, the young king continued. "I mean, haven't eaten in nearly eight hours now. Isn't it about dinner time by now? When are we go…"

Lucy saw the guard's foot pull back, but so did Edmund, and he pushed Peter aside quickly and rolled out of the way. Meanwhile, Lucy continued to move up silently behind the guard as Edmund distracted him. When the warden's shin struck the bars instead of a prisoner, the he swore loudly and glowered down at both of the kings.

"Think you're funny?" he growled. Lucy decided he was just not a happy person. Her hand stretched out, so near his key ring…

"Yeah, sometimes I can be," Edmund shrugged casually, sitting up against the back wall of the cell, a safe distance from the bars. Lucy wished Peter would stop staring at her; it was rather telling. She had one hand hooked in the key ring now, and she was lifting it as stealthily as she could, trying to remove it from the guard's belt. Fortunately, he probably couldn't feel it through his mail shirt…

She almost had the keys off, when suddenly the guard dropped his hand to his side, a movement that sent his elbow crashing straight into Lucy's face.

She tried not to scream but it wouldn't have mattered – his neck whipped around and he looked straight at her, and in that instant, several things happened. Edmund and Peter both launched themselves towards the cell bars, ready to do whatever they could to protect their sister. The guard let out a bark of surprise and anger and reached for his sword. And Lucy ducked down swiftly, one hand fumbling into her stocking to withdraw her dagger. Unfortunately, in the time it took to free it from the sheath, the guard had already swung his sword, and she had to drop completely to the ground to avoid having an arm amputated.

She took a swipe at his ankles while she was down, but from that angle, she had no power, and the blow glanced harmlessly off the metal covers of his boots. The guard raised his blade again, snarling above her, and Lucy realized that she was trapped between his feet and the side of the cell, with nowhere to go. Squeezing her eyes shut, she braced herself and twisted so that the blow might strike her shoulder, not her stomach...

"Don't!" she heard Edmund cry out, and near her head on the floor, she heard his feet move quickly. The guard snarled, and she heard a smacking noise and Ed gasping in pain.

Suddenly, more footsteps sounded around them and another voice rang out.

"What's going on in here?" it demanded. Lucy opened her eyes to see two other guards hurrying towards them, their swords out. Peter had pulled Edmund away from the bars; the younger king was cradling his face in his hands and Lucy could see that his lip was bleeding profusely.

"I caught another one," the first guard growled, giving Lucy a kick. She gave a soft cry, but kept most of it in. Swiftly, Peter crouched beside her, his hand stretching out of the cell to rest on her shoulder as reassuringly as he could manage.

The second guard looked over in confusion.

"But that's just a little girl," he said, peering through the darkness.

"Let them keep thinking that, Lu," Peter whispered in her ear. "Don't give yourself away."

She nodded, biting her lip as the first guard pulled her roughly upright.

_Some rescue party we turned out to be…_


	49. Forty Nine

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.

* * *

Lucy did not feel the full force of her failure until the cell door clicked shut. It was only when the key turned in the lock and the guard left her there in the darkness that she began to comprehend just what this meant. They had entered the castle as three rescuers bent on saving one prisoner – and had become just three more prisoners, this time with no hope of rescue. Tomorrow would be Susan's wedding. Locked in the bowels of King Valin's castle, they could do absolutely nothing to prevent it. Probably, she would be wed and Narnia invaded before they even saw the light of day again.

It was not in Lucy's nature to give in to despair, but she felt it threatening hugely over her head. The guards had separated the three of them into entirely different cell blocks, dragging Peter off to the second and putting Lucy into the third, so that thick stone walls separated them in sight, sound and thought. They had confiscated all their weapons and Lucy's belt, with it her rings and cordial, and whisked them off to some unknown place, though she wasn't sure the guards knew what everything actually was. And so the four monarchs of Narnia found themselves utterly helpless, isolated and imprisoned in the wrong world, on a quest that started out as "only a small problem," in Peter's words, but which seemed to have ended in utter disaster.

Lucy did not know how long she paced her cell, alternately weeping and then forcing herself to be hopeful. Aslan would not have sent them on a quest they could not finish, she told herself in one of these moments. But even as she thought that, another voice inside her suggested that Aslan had in fact overestimated her and her siblings, assumed that they were more capable and resourceful than they actually were. And the stakes were so very high – it looked as though Valin might succeed in his quest, and what then? Susan would become little more than his servant, forced to watch as he led an army into her homeland in an absurd quest for land and glory. Though Lucy knew that even in their absence, the Narnian armies would fight strong and brave under the guidance of General Oreius, Narnia neither needed nor wanted a war, especially not with forces they'd never seen before from another world entirely.

And especially not when such a war was preventable from this end. Lucy knew that the kingdom – Caelan, had someone called it? – was close to rebellion; King Valin may have won over the soldiers somehow, as they seemed quite loyal to him, but the people were unhappy and Lucy doubted they would support him if given an opportunity for dissent. Though fear choked them for the moment, they might rise up if someone appeared to lead them. She and her siblings could do that – but not from behind bars! She _had _to find a way to escape.

Though she had already combed over every inch of her cell, looking for a weak spot, Lucy did so again now, down on her hands and knees and up on her tiptoes, her hands running over the bars and the stone. They had not bothered to manacle her; she supposed they thought her a small threat because of her age and sex. Unfortunately for her, the fifth check yielded nothing new and she sank to the floor in a frustrated heap.

"Please," she whispered despairingly. "Please, Aslan, help us."

She had not really expected a response, but she got one.

From somewhere down the dark hallway, she heard footsteps, and then two people were entering the cell block, a guard and someone she couldn't fully see in the dim light.

"This her?" the guard grunted, gesturing to Lucy when the two had finally reached her cell. She stared and gave a start when she realized the other person was Danya, the maid with whom she'd worked before, to whom she had spilled her story. She felt cold terror twist in her stomach, wondering if she had been foolish to speak so openly, to trust someone she barely knew.

"There you are," said Danya, crouching beside Lucy's cell to look her in the eye. "I told you not to go off adventuring, Faye, especially not down here. _Mother _is so worried."

Lucy opened her mouth confusedly. Danya gave an exaggerated sigh and straightened out so she could talk to the guard again.

"I'm sorry, I tried to keep an eye on her, but she's younger than she looks, you know. She's hard to keep track of. It won't happen again, I promise; I'll keep her with me on my shift tomorrow."

"You'd better," the guard muttered, and he reached for his keys. A moment later, the door swung open.

"Come on, Faye," Danya said meaningfully, looking her right in the eye. "It's time to go home."

Lucy stood up uncertainly and took Danya's proffered hand. When she stepped out of the cell, the guard shut it behind her and waited impatiently for the two of them to get moving, which they did, Danya setting a rather quick pace back down the hallway and away from the dungeons. Past the guards they walked briskly, down the next hallway and beginning up the stairs towards the main castle. Neither one spoke, despite Lucy's repeated questioning glances. At last, the maid's grip on her wrist slackened and they slowed down before she took a sharp right down into the servants' quarters. A few steps more and they had entered a side room, empty of people but crowded with rough beds and small trunks of belongings.

"How…why…" Lucy attempted to ask, baffled.

"You weren't back when I finished my shift. I don't know if I believe your entire story, but I'm sure you don't deserve to be down there, of all places," Danya said simply. "Did you find your brothers?"

Lucy nodded and bit her lip.

"Thank you," she said, unsure even how to put her gratitude into words. "That…that was really brave."

"You remind me of my real little sister," Danya laughed with a grim smile. "When you didn't come back, I had to go after you."

"Danya," said Lucy suddenly. The maid looked over at her as she knelt down began rummaging in one of the trunks.

"Yes?"

"I need to stop that wedding."

Danya straightened out, a piece of parchment clasped in one hand.

"I know," she nodded. "And I know some people who can help."


	50. Fifty

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.

* * *

As Danya ran her finger down the paper, reading it carefully, Lucy came around the maid's side to look at it, and saw that it was an unlabeled list of names and positions that she assumed must be opponents of the king. A sort of underground organization, she thought.

"Our trouble is, as always, the guards," Danya sighed, sitting down on the bed. Lucy noticed that she kept the list shielded from the doorway with her body, so that anyone walking in would not see it right away. "Valin pays his soldiers well and fills them with ideas of loyalty and duty to their king. And well…to state the obvious, they know how to fight; we don't."

"Is there a way to prevent the wedding without fighting?" Lucy asked.

"Well…yes, but not without a whole lot of danger to ourselves," Danya frowned, looking over the list once again. "If we managed to stop all preparations, prevent the Cleric from performing the ceremony at all, retrieve the magicians from their quarantine, the wedding wouldn't happen. But Valin would inevitably send the guards down on us, and any number could die. The people are afraid enough as it is. We could never mobilize enough of them to stop it completely."

Lucy understood this. She bit her lip.

"The magicians," she began uncertainly. "Can they fight? Would they?"

Danya laughed hollowly.

"I doubt it," she said, shaking her head. "Most of them are old and senile; the younger, more powerful ones we haven't seen in weeks. They're up to something in the South Tower but no one knows what. And I doubt they'd fight with us, in any case, not when they seem to be in such close council with the king."

"I _do _know what they're up to," Lucy put in. Danya looked at her sharply.

"That's quite a statement," she said, the hint of a warning in her tone. "I've heard plenty of rumors. I only trust that you won't turn me in because the guards wouldn't jail you if were on their side, but I don't really have a reason to believe you. But what have you heard? And who from?"

"I heard it from my sister," said Lucy, knowing again she had no proof. "Susan. Valin's bride-to-be, if we don't stop the wedding. She said Valin has coerced the magicians into seeking ways into other worlds, to find more land and resources for his people."

"Yes, I'd heard that one," Danya said with a frown. "And I wouldn't put it past him at all. But how would he plan to take it, if the lands are already inhabited? Does he plan a full-on war?"

"I think so," Lucy replied. "He's already attacked her, after all, and kidnapped her into this country. Perhaps he plans to use her as a hostage." _And perhaps he intends that for Peter and Edmund, too, _she thought to herself worriedly. They were in quite a compromising position.

"And that would start tomorrow," said Danya with a low whistle. "A war. He plans a war. We don't have the resources or the manpower for a war. He would take every able-bodied man from our country and leave us crippled. Don't we struggle enough already as it is?"

Lucy stood in uncomfortable silence, looking down at the list. Though it was a full sheet of parchment, a few dozen names out of the hundreds in the castle didn't seem enough to stage even a protest, much less a revolution.

"What can we do?" she asked, biting her lip. Danya looked at the paper in her hand, tapping it against her thigh a few times. Then she took a deep breath and looked back up at the young queen.

"If we can't defeat his army…we have to defeat _him_," she stated. "I had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but there's no time left. We've no other option."

"What do you mean?" Lucy asked in confusion. Danya stood up, checked the list one more time and set her jaw resolutely.

"Assassination," she said simply.

Lucy felt a sharp twist in her stomach. Though she understood that such an act would prevent hundreds or even thousands of other deaths, it still felt underhanded. When she and her siblings had first taken up the throne, they had had history lessons, and learned how more than a few of Narnia's ancient monarchs had fallen alone at the hands of rogue fighters, and whenever the four of them traveled out into the country, they were accompanied by a small guard. Only once had any of them faced any real danger from assassins – Peter, while traveling through the Lone Islands, had been poisoned at a meal with a mutinous old chieftain – but the fear was always with them. Lucy could not help but wish for another option.

"The question is, who could do it?" Danya frowned. Lucy looked back over at her, jerked back from her thoughts. "I would, but I could never get close enough, and I haven't the strength or skill to do it from afar."

"Is there really no other way?" Lucy needed to know. Danya sighed.

"I don't see one," she said gently, laying her hand on Lucy's arm. "If you can't bring yourself do something like this, you needn't be involved."

"But…Susan is my sister," Lucy whispered uncertainly. "If…if that is the only way, then I'll help you to do it…for her sake. And for my brothers'."

Danya nodded and knelt down to slide the list back into the lining of her trunk, Lucy saw; it was a clever hiding space.

"Then come with me," she said, rising to her feet. "Come with me, little queen, and we'll find a way."

She held out her hand with a grim smile. Lucy knew that the title did not indicate that Danya believed her, only that she trusted her, but that was enough. Though her stomach rolled slightly as she thought of what blood might soon be on her hands, she thought again of her brothers' secret torture, of her sister's imprisonment, and forced her heart to harden. She must. For their sake, she must learn to be older, harder, less sentimental and more tough. Her foolishness had already cost them the first set of rings, stolen into the night by a man she thought she could trust – she would not be naïve again.

So she took Danya's hand and left the room, never noticing the movement of the heaped blankets on the corner bed.


	51. Fifty One

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. **Just so you know**: Tomorrow morning (June 13th) I leave for Japan, where I'll be on exchange until July 8th. I've written a few advance chapters that SubOrbital will post for me about once a week, so updates will be slower than usual, but I thought that would be better than giving you nothing until I get back! Hope you enjoy.

* * *

The sun was well past set when at last Lucy returned with Danya to the servants' chambers, her mind stuffed with secrets and plans and adjustments and still so, so much doubt. The two had crossed the castle from top to bottom, front to back and side to side countless times, repeating information, relaying messages between parties. Danya had allies in nearly every establishment, in the stables, in the kitchens, in the armory, in the library, even among the king's own cabinet, though Lucy had stayed behind from that meeting, told it was too dangerous to risk them both coming up.

And so the plan was set. The king had a set schedule the next day, in preparation for his mid-morning wedding. He was to rise with the sun, to meet with his closest advisors over breakfast as he did every morning, to bathe and attend the ritual purification undergone before important ceremonies, to attend the royal tailor's and don his wedding garb, then to process with his cabinet down to the Great Hall, where he would await his bride-to-be. When the wedding guests arrived on the last Wren, they would walk directly to the castle and the ceremony would begin; their arrival marked its start.

But if all went well for Danya and her friends, he would never make the journey from the tailor's to the Great Hall.

Lucy ran the plan over in her head. One of Danya's closest companions – her lover, Lucy actually suspected – worked closely with the royal tailor, as his long-experienced apprentice. While the king was putting on his wedding garb, his guards would be standing outside the door, protecting from an outside attack. Meanwhile, his opponents would be executing one from the inside.

And so Roche, as the tailor's apprentice was called, would the next day eat breakfast with his mentor as usual, and afterwards take the old man out on his customary morning walk. When they passed the stables, however, a diversion would draw them inside, and other friends of the uprising would target the tailor himself, staging an "accident" that would leave him temporarily incapacitated. Thus, Roche would naturally take his place, and have a private room with the king shortly thereafter. At that time – and Lucy wished yet again it didn't have to be this way – he and a few other hidden companions would silently make their attack.

While they dispatched King Valin, Lucy and many others (Danya among them) would storm the dungeons with weapons supplied by an ally in the armory, overcoming the small guard to set free the three kings: Peter, Edmund and Vareth.

"And what after that?" Lucy had asked Danya in a whisper as they passed through one long, stone hallway. As it was a passageway of the servants, none of the cheap magic tricks of the wedding decorations hindered them. "What then?"

"We will restore the elder king to the throne," the maid replied naturally. "King Valin used to rule jointly with King Vareth, but Vareth was always the better leader. His temper was never so quick as his younger brother's. And so naturally, he grew more powerful as his influence was greater, and Valin had to seek other ways of gaining power."

"How did Vareth fall from the throne?" Lucy wanted to know. She noticed that her companion was constantly checking the doorways they passed, making sure no one was listening in on their hushed conversation.

"The rumors about that are numerous," Danya told her. "All the public is meant to think is that Vareth was caught murdering a lieutenant of the Palace Guard. No witnesses came forward. But I have it from one of the king's closest men that though it was Vareth's fist on the sword, it was Valin who forced his hand. Most of the kingdom supposes Vareth to be dead, but the majority of us working here in the palace know differently."

"I saw him," Lucy nodded. "I met him, in the dungeons."

"Did you!" Danya said in surprise.

"So if your plan goes well, you will restore Vareth to the throne? What do you think the rest of the guards will do?"

Danya turned the corner, catching Lucy's arm to lead her in the correct direction. They were nearly back at the servants' quarters by this time, and it was quite late at night. Lucy knew they should sleep. Danya in particular had looked like she was going to collapse in the kitchens even that morning; she was amazed at the maid's strength, to keep so alert for so very long. Pursing her lips in response to Lucy's question, Danya at last shrugged.

"If we are swift enough, they will only know their king is dead and a new one has succeeded him," she said. "If they have a king to serve, they will serve him. They care little about Valin, only about the things he gave them. If Vareth uses the same words, and asks them to take up swords for Caelan, they will do whatever he asks. The highest-ranking commanders might reject his leadership, but with our strength of numbers, they would not be a problem."

"And the people?" Lucy asked. Danya paused with her hand on the door-handle.

"The people will be glad to have their better king back," she said firmly, though still in a whisper. Then she opened the door and brought them both inside. Now, several of the beds were occupied with sleeping maids; a few others still lay empty, and Danya gestured to one of these to indicate Lucy might use it.

The blankets were rough and the bed made of packed straw, but Lucy would not have been able to sleep anyway. Her stomach jolted uncomfortably every time she thought of what was to come. What were Valin's plans for Peter and Edmund, still trapped in the dungeons? What if by the time Danya's plan was carried out, it was too late for them? Susan she knew she could save, but now there loomed greater problems. To get them all safely home, she would have to recover the rings (and hopefully her gifts, along with Peter's and Susan's as well) and gather them all in one place. How was that to happen, when she was supposedly a maid, Susan a foreign queen, Peter a prisoner king, and Edmund merely a soldier under him?

Lucy lay awake for a long, long time, though exactly how long she could not have said. She thought of Susan, probably asleep in that lush expanse of a bed in her prison-palace, wondering if she would really become the bride of a tyrant on the morrow. She thought of Peter and Edmund, alone, cold, injured and hungry in the belly of the castle, awaiting whatever was next for them. Did they know she had escaped? Did they know help was coming? _Was _help even coming, or would the plans fall through and leave Lucy as hopeless as she'd been mere hours before?

_Aslan, see us through, _she thought, and closed her eyes. There was no rush of relief, no powerful strength that coursed through her, but Lucy felt her mind quiet a little with the thought, and again comforted herself with the reassurance that Aslan would not have sent them on an impossible pursuit. In the morning, she would wake, and place her trust in these rebellious strangers, who were so different from her and yet who shared the same values – honesty, loyalty, equality. In the morning, if everything went right, she would see her sister rescued from the grip of a dictator. In the morning, she would find out whether their quest would end in victory or in bitter defeat.


	52. Fifty Two

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.

* * *

Lucy awoke far sooner than she had wanted to, to a rough arm shaking her shoulder through the blankets.

"Get up," a woman's harsh voice said. "Your shift starts in twenty minutes."

Lucy opened her eyes to see the retreating back of a stout woman, apparently a head among the servants. She was now bending to wake someone else. Yawning, Lucy sat up and shifted to the side of the bed before reaching for her slippers. She knew she had to act naturally – though she didn't know the morning routine of this castle's servants, she had to pretend as if she did. This was easy, though, as several people around her were groggily rising and filing out of the room and down a hallway, so Lucy simply followed them. She did not see Danya either sleeping or with the rest of the maids.

In a huge room she'd only passed by the previous night, Lucy washed up with the other maids and acquired a new uniform from one of the giants bins near the doorway, in which the clothes were sorted by size. Then she again followed the line of maids out into the castle, where she found her way back to the kitchens, assuming that was where she was meant to go.

Even at this early hour – she guessed it could not have been past six in the morning – the kitchens were cramped and busy, preparing breakfast and the inevitable feast for the wedding. When she found herself shunted off to one side of the room, away from the ovens, she approached a table where a few maids were slicing cheeses and meats onto vast platters. Then she took up a knife and set to work, her mind fleeing the kitchen to visit other, more important matters.

These thoughts were interrupted when she found a completed platter pushed into her arms. Surprised, she lurched under its sudden weight, but swiftly regained her balance to save the teetering tower of finger-food from ruin. Then she left the kitchen on the heels of another maid who was carrying the other tray, trying to keep up with her swift pace but still keep everything together. The two of them swept through the hallways and up a short flight of stairs only to come down it on the other side, then made a sharp turn into what Lucy barely recognized as the Great Hall, so changed it was from how she'd seen it the previous night.

White and silver banners hung from every wall, interspersed with long streamers that fluttered in a breeze that came in from the high windows. Lucy could sense the energy of the magic crackling in the air as she walked beneath a chandelier that hung near the ceiling in midair, unsupported by any visible apparatus. It hadn't been there before, and neither had the dozens of other flashy chandeliers that lit the room with harsh, unnecessary light. Long tables ran the back length of the room, set with benches of handsome wood, which had been polished so hard the guests may have been able to see their faces on their surfaces. Huge bouquets of white and pink roses were arranged on every table. In front of them, more benches had been set up rather like pews, row upon row before the raised dais of the King's seat, presumably so that the guests could observe the ceremony from there.

Down the center of the room, a long white carpet trailed up to the central steps and onto the raised dais where two massive stone thrones rested; Lucy presumed one was Valin's, while the others might have once been Vareth's. Before the two thrones, a stone altar had been erected, on which rested a glittering glass cup. Lucy did not know what the marriage traditions of these people were, but she assumed the cup must be a part of it, and bowed her head in a silent prayer that Susan would not ever have to approach that altar.

She followed the other maid to a long, white-draped table, where she carefully set down the platter and hurried back towards the kitchens. It wouldn't be long now, she knew, until the king would be eating his breakfast. And after he ate his breakfast, he would meet with the Cleric to purify himself. And after that…

Rounding a corner, Lucy wondered if this could indeed be claimed as a success for her family, if all went well. Perhaps they could all return safely to their home, but what had she and Edmund and Peter actually done? They had crossed the Void and infiltrated the castle only to fail in the last, most desperate hour, and now Lucy could do nothing but place her trust in others to save them. She did not want to assassinate anyone; she wished there had been a way to confront Valin head-on in an honest fashion, but it seemed there was not. She could always go and challenge him directly, but surely she would be killed instantly – she had no weapon, and little strength. Though Valin seemed an idiot and a tyrant, from what she had seen of him the other day, he was a strong man, and likely to be a formidable swordsman. Lucy's dagger, even if she still had it, would be no match for such an enemy.

When she returned to the kitchens, she was surprised to find them silent – not absent of talking, but absent of motion as well. All the maids and servants had frozen and turned to face one man, a guard, who stood at the south entrance with a scroll in his hands. Lucy quickly shut the door behind her and tried not to attract any attention to himself as the soldier cleared his throat and began to speak.

"By order of His Majesty King Valin, Singular Ruler of all Caelan and Lord of this the Castle Ilvant, I bring you this command. All men, women and children graciously employed by His Majesty in this castle are to immediately convene in the Great Hall for a special assembly," he declared into the room, his voice a little hard to hear over the crackle of the oven fires and the bubbling of the pots on the stoves. A few murmurs spread through the crowd – an assembly? What sort of an assembly? The wedding was but a couple of hours away; how could he expect them to prepare everything if he ate away at their time so? But apparently, the king's word was not to be ignored.

Within moments, the fires had been dampened, all sources of heat removed from the kitchen, all tasks set aside for resuming later, and the exodus began. Lucy found herself swept up with the crowd as her stomach twisted uncomfortably – what did this mean? This had not been a part of the plan they had so carefully constructed; what if the king had changed something? Would their scheme still work?

With a river of people flowing through the castle's passageways, Lucy shuffled through the stream and towards the Great Hall to find out what was going on.


	53. Fifty Three

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.

* * *

When Lucy arrived – well, "arrived" might have been too gentle a word – when she was jostled into the Great Hall by the shoulders of the people around her, Lucy was immediately struck by the size of the crowd that had gathered. It seemed every servant in the castle had been summoned to the Great Hall, which meant there were a few hundred people lining its walls. Though she couldn't see the dais from where she stood in the crowd, she quickly shifted around a side and towards the front so she could, to see why they had been called here.

But she saw only an empty dais, the two thrones backed by a few guards but otherwise unoccupied. The altar and the cup still stood, silent premonitions of a fate Lucy hoped to avoid. The crowd was murmuring confusedly. Lucy glanced around a few more times, trying to spot any familiar face, but none of the people she'd encountered the night before, whose names had been on Danya's list, were present. Frowning, she turned back to the front of the room.

A moment later, a door behind the thrones opened, and the guards as one sank into a respectful bow. Immediately, the room copied the gesture, and Lucy found herself curtseying awkwardly alongside hundreds of others as she assumed the king entered the room. When she looked up, she saw he had – and he was holding a piece of paper in his hand. The crowd hushed immediately as King Valin stepped around the thrones and the altar, out to the front of the dais, looking out over them all.

"Good morning, citizens," he called out into the room, his voice booming unnaturally loud – Lucy suspected the magicians had something to do with the amplification. "I trust you're keeping busy preparing for the feast later this morning. I expect you will prepare the best for my guests."

He was pacing in front, his eyes still combing over the paper. Every so often he would walk too far to one side and Lucy would lose him beyond the head of someone taller than her, but she could see him for the most part, stalking back and forth, waiting to choose his next words. Abruptly, he stopped pacing and looked up and over the crowd.

"However, it has come to my attention that some among your number have not been preparing as diligently as possible," he said, his words dripping danger and threat. Even from a distance, Lucy could see the muscles at the corner of his mouth twitching beneath his moustache. He lifted the paper up so that the crowd might see it.

And Lucy felt the bottom drop out of her stomach as she realized: It was Danya's list.

"Under our very eyes, in this very castle, treachery and rebellion stew amongst the basest of us," Valin growled to the gathered servants, holding the paper out in front of him as if it were offensive unto itself. "Thankfully, these rogues misplaced their trust in one who remains true to his throne and his country, or perhaps we never would have learned about this appalling plan, this atrocious scheme to make an attack on my very person! We have weeded out most of the disloyal among you, but to ensure you understand the gravity of the situation, I thought we ought to make a lesson out of this…unfortunate incident."

He gestured to the guards behind him, who opened up the doors in the back. Out marched a short line of people, people Lucy recognized from the night before, a few the others who had been planning to aid in their scheme. Their hands were bound behind their backs but they looked for the most part steeled and unrepentant. Danya, though, was not among them; Lucy still couldn't see her anywhere. Panic reared briefly in her stomach but she squashed it down and tried instead to think clearly. Who were the ones who were actually going to perform the attack? Roche, she knew, and a few others in the stable and in the armory. Were they among those captured?

Lucy's eyes scanned over the figures on the dais hurriedly. Her stomach jerking, she caught sight of two men and a woman who had indeed been in on the plan. How much did Valin know? There was a chance he knew only of a vague plot and a list of names. She prayed for this to be the case, but what if he had tortured them as he had done her brothers? Not everyone could be as silent as Peter under such treatment…

"Would anyone else like to join these _noble _dissenters?" Valin called out to the gathered servants, his voice heavy with scorn. The crowd hung in a vast, queasy silence. Turning back to his prisoners, the king laughed mockingly. "Such friends you have. Or perhaps they, unlike you, know the value of loyalty."

Lucy had a feeling she knew what was to come soon, but she couldn't bear to watch it. She began to move back in the crowd, trying not to draw attention to herself. She had to get away, to find Danya, to fix this – how had it gone wrong? Who had reported them?

She heard the ring of a sword being drawn but she'd moved behind a tall, stout woman, and she couldn't see, but the crowd tensed as one entity, every person seeming to hold their breath at once.

Then there was a strange whistle from somewhere up above, and a sharp scream from the dais, and a collective gasp from everyone around her, and sudden chaos. Lucy struggled to see again, but all of a sudden people were moving very quickly, milling around and blocking her path and bumping into her; she tried to push her way through to see what was going on but suddenly Valin was also booming out orders to his guards, orders that were amplified by whatever made his voice so loud in the first place.

"Take forty men and block all the ramparts!" he was shouting to one of his commanders. He sounded as though he, too, were moving quickly, perhaps even a little panicked. "No, leave him, go! I don't care! I order you to go!"

When Lucy broke free of the crowd, she could see Valin holding one of his prisoners in front of him like a shield as one guard writhed on the dais with a short shaft in his chest – a crossbow bolt. Her head jerked up, trying to figure out where it might have come from, who might have shot it. The angle at which it had come in meant it could not have come from within the room, which left the windows; someone must have shot through one of them and into the room. Who had they been aiming for? But of course, who would they have aimed for but the king?

"Get back to your duties!" Valin barked at the panicked crowd as he moved back towards the door out of which he'd come. "I will have everything perfect!"

People began to swarm out the doors, but Lucy wasn't ready to go. She pushed forward again, wondering if in this confusion, she could do something to help the prisoners; the guards were rushing out the back doors to apprehend whoever had made the shot, and Valin himself looked ready to follow. But just when she was about to rush up and seize the wounded guard's belt to cut them free, Valin turned, saw her down below, turned away in disinterest, and struck.

She remembered as the man's body hit the ground that his name had been Iren, that he had worked in the castle smithy, but the hands that curled limply upwards would never again hold a hammer. In rapid succession, the others followed, their lives ending without so much as a glance from the retreating crowd, except from Lucy, whose eyes marked them in horror. She turned and fled before the last body fell, but the sound of the impact wrenched her stomach and the instant she had run to and thrown open an outside door, she was violently ill.

Far off and above, she could see guards swarming up onto the ramparts, and knew her plan had failed.


	54. Fifty Four

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.

* * *

In a small side garden, for that was where she had run in her haste to escape, Lucy wretched and trembled, crouched in the soil with her fingers dug deep into grass roots. In less than two hours, the Wren would arrive with the wedding guests. Her sister's fate would be sealed, and Valin would open the passage into Narnia to begin his attack. She was left now with no allies, no weapons, no help and no hope. She had only herself, and what good was she, by herself? Lucy's strength came from supporting the people around her: with no one left to support, she felt entirely lost.

The despair did not lift with the passing minutes, as she had found in the past it often did. But the illness did; finally, Lucy managed to pull herself to her feet and think. Her mind hazy with panic and anguish, she found it hard to come up with a next step. All notions of valiance seemed to have fled her. Right then, courage was an intellectual idea and not a feeling, but though she did not feel brave, she forced herself to think brave. There always had to be a last resort. If she were Peter, she would acquire a weapon and challenge Valin to single combat. But she was not Peter, and she could not win such a duel. If she were Edmund, she would salvage what she could of the original plan and sacrifice whatever was necessary to complete it, even her own life. But she was not Edmund, and her plan depended on allies within the castle, allies who by now were mostly dead or captured. If she were Susan, she would stay calm and cool-headed and at the last minute, would probably defy Valin at the altar and accept the consequences for Narnia's sake. But Lucy was not Susan; she was neither calm nor in a position to pull off anything like that.

No, Lucy was not any of her siblings, and she didn't know what to do. Straightening out, she opened the door to the castle and entered again, hoping that somewhere she might see something that would spark her imagination, give her a sign of what to do. She had wandered in a haze of panic and despair near twenty minutes when she found herself near the armory, the clank of the nearby smithy ringing in her ears. And it was then that she decided it: she would acquire a weapon, take on the dungeon guards, and rescue her brothers. It was the easiest part of the things she needed to do, and with their help, they could do so much more…

Sneaking into the armory proved easier than she had expected. It was guarded only by a single man, who seemed to think that a little girl heading into an armory was just there to pick up something for someone more qualified, and who gave her just a patronizing smile as she entered. She curtseyed politely and walked right in without so much as a word.

This armory was a great deal more uniform than the Cair's, probably because it did not have to supply weapons and armor for so very many shapes of warriors. Though she missed the novelty of the tiny suits of armor for animals like the Raccoons and Beavers and the majesty of the enormous Centaur swords and flankplates, she could appreciate how well-organized everything was. Deciding to find a short sword, which she knew how to use fairly well, Lucy was about to walk past the longer ones when she caught sight of a familiar blade.

How Edmund's sword had ended up in the armory, she wasn't sure, but she guessed that after the guards had confiscated it, they had simply passed it down here to become part of the collection. With some difficulty, Lucy managed to free it from the wall and buckle it to her belt, though it was too long for her and the end of the sheath dragged a bit on the ground. A thought struck her. Was Rhindon here as well, and perhaps her own dagger?

She searched the swords carefully, but could not find her eldest brother's blade. Perhaps someone had already taken it up – it was, after all, a fantastically crafted weapon; any guard would be lucky to have such a sword. Next, she moved on to the daggers, which were sheathed and placed in a large bin rather than mounted on the wall. She had to dig (carefully, of course; even sheathed daggers can be dangerous) to search for her own. She knew, though, that it could not be too far from the top, if it was there. When her fingers closed around the lion's head, she felt her heart leap in her chest and with a bit of maneuvering she managed to withdraw it from the barrel. There it was, as if it had never been taken from her, unscathed. This, too, went on her belt, and she left the armory under the amused eye of the guard, who said "don't cut yourself with that, missy" and laughed at himself.

Though she wasn't sure she remembered the route to the dungeons that the maid Merre had showed her the night before, she followed as many staircases down as she could, and after only two false starts, found herself again at the choice between the cellars and the dungeons. But, strangely, today there was no guard posted on either side, and for a moment she struggled to remember which passageway was which. She headed down, drawing Edmund's sword as silently as she could. Though it was rather too heavy for her, she thought she could handle it well enough, and it would be of better use to her than her short little dagger would.

Lucy's desperation had swallowed her fear. She felt her heart begin to race as she paced down the long passageway, waiting to get into the room that would divide up the cell blocks, where she would face the four guards, where she could free her brother and perhaps King Vareth as well. When she saw the light up ahead, she hefted the sword higher, a myriad of feelings sweeping through her, coursing through her blood, strengthening her. She felt a battle instinct like she'd never had before rear up, and from her throat ripped Peter's familiar cry –

"For Narnia!"

But the room into which she charged was quite empty. No one stood to guard the passages into the cell blocks.

Confused, heart racing, Lucy turned and ran down the first, where she had found her brothers the previous day, and where Edmund ought to have been still. Though it was dark, she could still tell it, too, was empty; her brother was gone, the door to his cell swinging open when she pulled on it. Perplexed, Lucy walked back into the main passageway and entered the second cell block.

"Back again, my little queen?" chuckled a low voice, though it was a humorless, hopeless chuckle. She looked into the corner and caught sight of King Vareth, hidden in shadows but clearly still shackled to the wall. No one was guarding him – perhaps they assumed he was too well-secured and weak to escape.

"What's happened?" Lucy asked in utter bewilderment. "Where has everyone gone?"

"I believe the king called a special assembly of his guard," Vareth told her, shifting with a clank of his chains. "From what I've overheard, that's my guess. Needless to say, I wasn't invited."

"Where…where are my brothers?" she asked. She let Edmund's sword drop at last, and clumsily sheathed it, walking over to the imprisoned king's cell and putting a hand on the door.

"I cannot say," Vareth told her, and he sounded truly sorry. "They came to collect them earlier today."

"Do you…do you have any idea where they might have taken them?"

"I don't," said Vareth, shaking his head. "But I have every trust you will find them, Queen…Lucy, was it?"

She nodded.

"One of your brothers spent the night here," he told her as she turned to leave. She looked at him quizzically, then remembered that after the guards had discovered her, they'd separated all three of them, that Peter had been put in this block.

"Yes, yes he did," Lucy nodded, pausing. "That was Peter. He's the oldest of us. The High King."

"He spoke very highly of you," Vareth told her solemnly. "He assured me that you would find a way to make things right, Queen Lucy. He seems a man of his word, and so I, too, have every faith that you will succeed in your quest."

Lucy stared a moment, blushing and feeling the shame of her recent failure. Peter trusted her. She couldn't fail him now.

"Thank you," she told Vareth at last, nodding gratefully. "I…I promise you, if I find a way to rescue my family…I will find a way to rescue you, too. I won't leave you down here."

"I know you won't," said Vareth simply, nodding. "Godspeed, little queen."

"May Aslan watch over you," she replied, nodding. Then she turned, squared her shoulders and walked back towards the light, to save her family or die trying.


	55. Fifty Five

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. I am home from Japan, though - this is the first of the chapters I hand-wrote while I was away. I'm typing them up as I go. I missed you all!

* * *

Lucy did not find out that she was supposed to be somewhere until an angry supervisor grabbed her arm as she walked past and began to berate her.

"What are you doing wasting time on guard's errands?!" the woman shouted, gesturing to the weapons on Lucy's belt in immense exasperation. "The gifts, the wedding gifts! They're to be in the Great Hall, every one of them, in but twenty minutes! Haven't you heard?! He's called an emergency assembly before the start of the wedding!"

Lucy ran off in the direction she hoped was the gift room before the woman could lecture her any further, her heart pounding – she had thought she was found out. But everyone she passed assumed the weapons were not her own, that she was in the process of carrying them elsewhere, and she of course said nothing to contradict them.

She joined the stream of empty-handed maids on the way to the gift room where it crossed the river of package-carrying maids on the way to the Great Hall. Some part of her protested the menial work – what was the point in keeping up this façade? But then the more reasonable, Susanesque portion of her brain pointed out that it was as good a plan as any; she could probably do more in disguise than she could from a cell, and perhaps now she might even be able to retrieve her sister's gifts. So she trouped along up to the present room. Unfortunately, when she arrive, it was to find that the guards were passing out the packages to each maid in line, and with a long blue box in her arms, she was swept back towards the Great Hall.

Once again, Lucy entered it to find it was full of people, but this time it was not servants who filled the benches but guards – it seemed that most of the army had assembled together, all utterly silent and focused on the front of the room where a smaller group of soldiers flanked three bound men. Behind this company, a few dozen odd-looking men and women of all shapes and sizes stood, some wringing their hands, others seeming indifferent. Abruptly, Lucy stumbled – the package slipped from her hands and began to fall, but another maid swooped in to catch it; she was too distracted to utter a thank you, for she recognized all three prisoners – one was Roche, Valin's would-be assassin, and the other two were her brothers. All stood stiffly, their hands tied behind their backs and their gazes level. Her stomach lurched. They had the look of men who knew they were about to die.

She took a step back, fading into the line of shuffling maids but keeping her eyes glued to the unfolding scene. She could see King Valin pacing before them, dressed in velvet and padded silk encrusted with jewels – clearly, he was dressed for his wedding, which would begin in less than an hour. One hand stroked repeatedly over something on his belt, hiding it from her view; she he turned to pace the other way, she could see Susan's horn dangling at his side with his sheathed sword. Abruptly, he stopped pacing and gestured to the guards who backed Roche; they pushed him forward.

"I have something remarkable to show you," Valin announced to the assembled ranks. "Would you like to see it?"

The guards all touched their right palms flat to their chests. This seemed to be a gesture of assent, for Valin took Roche by the arm and steered him roughly up to the front and center of the dais, where everyone in the room could see him. Lucy saw his eyes meet Peter's and wondered if they knew just how closely their fates were intertwined, now near they had each come to delivering the other from this fate. But now their lives, along with Edmund's, Susan's and perhaps even all of Narnia, lay with Lucy, who stood now stock-still, jostled by the shoulders of the maids who streamed around her, her mind scrambling furiously for a plan.

"Watch carefully," Valin told his guard.

And without warning, he drew his sword and rammed it through Roche's abdomen. The young tailor's eyes opened wide in shock as he was impaled to the hilt, and he dropped to his knees, mouth falling open in soundless agony. Two guards stepped forward to grab his shoulders and steady him there, the blade erupting from his lower back. A ripple of shock passed through the room. The maids stopped stacking presents, some clapping hands over their mouths. The guards stiffened in their seats. Lucy stifled a scream and turned dead white. Smiling slightly, Valin stepped back and turned to face the crowd of odd-looking people in the back.

"Has this man a hope of recovery?" he asked casually. Every eye in the room stuck to the dying man on the dais as Roche gasped for air, his bound arms twitching.

"No," answered one of the men, with some authority, keeping his voice dispassionate, though the others looked uncomfortable, even stunned. "We have no spell to mend such a wound."

Lucy suddenly realized that he and the other people must be the magicians. Her gaze moved again. Edmund was watching Roche with a sort of muted panic, his eyes flicking between him and Peter and strangely, Valin's belt. Peter had closed his eyes and bowed his head, but his back was straight and his jaw was set. Valin turned back to the army.

"No, the Head Sorcerer says," he called out, stepping to one side to avoid getting his boot bloodied. "And he is correct. In this world, nothing could prevent this traitor's death."

He moved up again, pulling something from his belt and lifting it up for everyone to see. Lucy gasped – it was her cordial. Valin smiled expectantly.

"But something from out of this world might," he announced. The crowd stirred. "in this bottle, I have a foreign substance, a potion that can cure any injury. I might give it to this boy if he swears his allegiance back to the true king."

He gazed down at Roche expectantly, but the tailor gritted his teeth and shook his head. Never mind that he probably couldn't have spoken anyway – clearly he would not have done as Valin asked even if he had been able. The king scowled. Lucy realized that if Roche would not beg for the cordial, there was a chance that the guard might not even believe him about its magic. Somehow, he would have to prove it could do as he said.

"Perhaps it could loosen your tongue as well," he suddenly growled, reaching down to yank his sword out of Roche's body – blood seeped from the wound as the blade unstopped it and Lucy had to avert her eyes. A second later, though, there came a gasp from the guards and she looked up to see the wound in Roche's stomach patching, Valin straightening out with the vial in his hands. He gazed down at Roche triumphantly and lifted his sword again.

"Now…tell me," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Who is the rightful king of Caelan?"

"Vareth, eldest son of Lominne and Bucarus," spat Roche, still struggling to breathe. Though Lucy was expecting it this time, the blade's swift plunge was no less awful now, nor were the sharp gasps of agony from the dais any easier to hear. She could not understand how the maids around her could keep moving, just ducking their heads and pretending not to see, not to hear, not to know the nature of the man they served. She clenched her teeth and closed her hand over her dagger – if she could get close enough, get one clear shot, she might end all this here and now. But where was she, after all? In a hall utterly packed with guards, posing as a maid. She watched in disgusted helplessness as Valin again tipped the cordial to Roche's lips, healing him for a split instant before impaling him yet again and repeating his question.

"Who is the true ruler of Caelan?" he demanded, twisting the blade cruelly. Lucy felt her stomach turning over and over and inwardly wept to see her gift used for such ends.

"For the love of the Lion, stop!" Edmund cried out abruptly, and for a terrible instant Lucy thought Valin was about to run him through as well, but the tyrant just gestured angrily to his guards, who kicked her brother to the ground in front of the altar, forcing a length of rope into his mouth to gag him. He struggled, and she saw Peter's eyes reach out to him, suffering alongside him, but there was nothing either of them could do. She inched forward, sensing she needed to act soon, plan or no plan.

But before she could do anything, a hand closed over Edmund's sword on her belt and drew it, a body rushing past hers and out into the opening. She caught a glance of sun-browned skin and hard, dark eyes before Danya was away, charging past her and up towards the dais. It was impossibly far and Lucy knew she could never reach Valin in time, but her heart soared out with her friend anyway, daring to hope as the maid flew across the stone floor and hefted the blade before her with a cry of challenge.

Up onto the steps she leapt, taking them two at a time, but it was over before it began. Several guards rushed forward, drawing their own blades before she could get close enough to strike. They had every advantage – strength, skill, numbers – but she had desperation, and managed to smash past two of them before the third knocked her weapon aside (Edmund's eyes followed it, widening in surprise and flicking out into the room to look for its source) and threw her to the ground.

"That's the other, Your Highness!" a guard in the benches called out, standing up. "The one who escaped the ramparts! Those two, they were the ones who fired the crossbow this morning!"

"Ah," said Valin, stepping around to the front to look down at Danya, who was being restrained by two guards, her face mutinous and wrathful but somehow vulnerable, too. Lucy saw Roche's eyes from across the room, saw them light with terror for her as he tried to wrest himself away from his own captors, but he was much too weak, even temporarily healed by the cordial, and she realized at this point it was probably over for them. And it was over for them, it would be over for her family, too…

She took a deep breath, drew her dagger and lunged forward.

"Excuse me," rang a voice from the grand entrance, the rear doorway opposite the dais. Lucy turned her lunge into a stumble and whipped her head around, but of course, she could not have been mistaken – how could she ever not recognize that clear, strong voice?

Susan looked radiantly disdainful, dressed in a long gown of white silk and velvet, draped in pearls and opals and bearing an icy expression that could have rivaled any of Jadis's. The escort of palace guards behind her seemed almost afraid to stand too close. Her eyes took in the room – the assembled guard, the readied wedding decorations, the magicians, the altar, her brothers, King Valin, the blood, the prisoners, the cordial.

"You called?" she said, turning her frosty gaze to Valin again. He stepped away from Danya, his face twisting into something unreadable.

"My dove," he replied finally, apparently thinking fast. "I'm so glad you've arrived. Yes, then…this…this can wait for later. I've more pressing matters to address."


	56. Fifty Six

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.

* * *

Valin waved off the guards, who roughly pulled Danya to her feet and cast her down beside Roche, out of the way. She wrapped her arms about him defensively and Lucy could see her lips moving, and though she was too far away to catch the words, whatever was said seemed to bring both of them a great deal of peace. With a final embrace – the implications of the word threw a chill down Lucy's spine – they turned their attention back into the room, as did she.

"Boscowe," Valin said, turning to one of the nearby guards, a decorated officer who stood to attention. "Inform the guests who've already arrived that they may assemble for the ceremony now. The others should be arriving soon."

Lucy tried to move back into the crowd of maids as he spoke, only to find that most of them had gone – the gifts were apparently all present now. She tried instead to blend in with the few who had stayed behind to arrange the boxes in pleasing patterns, though her eyes stayed glued to the dais, where Valin was moving to address the army once more.

"No doubt you're all wondering where this came from," he said, lifting up the cordial again. "I have answers for you, but I plan to share them with our guests as well. You shall now align by rank along the walls to give them a place to sit. When the final guests arrive, you will be dismissed for a special task of which you will soon learn."

He touched the hilt of his sword, bloody in the sheath, and the guard stood as one and began to file out of the benches towards the walls. The last few maids dropped the packages to scurry out of the room, leaving Lucy standing awkwardly by herself – hurriedly, she stepped out of the way, edging around the table to resume the task they'd abandoned. She was still at a loss as to what to do – she decided to wait and see what Valin was planning. He would not have summoned her brothers if he did not intend to somehow use them for his own ends and she was anxious to see just what he might have in store, to prevent it if she could.

"Clean this up," Valin barked to a magician nearby, gesturing to the blood that spattered the ground in front of the altar, the remnants of Roche's defiance. The command was amplified even over the stomping of metal-tipped boots as the army began to form ranks by the walls. The woman scurried to obey; Lucy saw her pull a few odd items from her pocket and utter a few words; she drew a line around the stains with half a charcoal stick and suddenly the stones were spotless. Lucy looked down at the gifts on the table and moved a few, trying to remain inconspicuous.

When she looked back up, the scene was changing yet again. Roche and Danya had been pulled to the far side of the room, off the dais entirely, and three guards stood behind them, though no one had bothered to bind the maid's hands. Where they had been, at the front and center of the dais, now Peter and Edmund stood, the latter freed of his gag. Lucy could see that the corners of his mouth were bleeding slightly, but he stood straight and grim beside his elder brother. Susan's arrival seemed to have awakened in them some last reserve of strength, and even dressed in the plainest of clothes and stripped of their crowns, they looked every inch like kings. In contrast, despite all Valin's finery and the weight of the gold on his brow, he looked to Lucy like a bully playing dress-up in a game that had apparently turned deadly.

People were now strickling into the room from all its main entrances, men and women in lavish clothes who took up seats once more in the benches and cast curious looks at the strangers on the dais and at the gathered magicians. Whispered flitted through the air, but now Valin was simply standing, watching as the hall filled little by little. Lucy saw Peter's eyes meet Susan's across the room and read the desperate apology in them. For a moment, she wondered if this could really be it – the end of their quest, the last cruel twist of fate that would end their reign and their lives, far from their beloved Narnia, unknown and unmourned. She had made the mistake of trusting the wrong people – Timothy, Danya, Vareth – not bad people, but people whose own troubles weighted them beyond being able to aid four strangers from a foreign country, and it had come to this: she alone, of all who had ever been a part of their band, was free in any sense of the word, and even she was sorely limited by that very fact.

At last, Valin seemed satisfied that his audience had grown large enough, and stepped out in front of the two Narnian kings.

"Before I am to be wed, I thought my subjects might like to know a few things about my lovely bride-to-be," he announced, lifting a hand to gesture at Susan, whose cold expression remained despite his patronizing smile. A few necks craned to stare back at her, but the scene at the front still held most everyone's attention. Valin continued. "Some of you may be wondering why, when so very many fair maidens have sought my attentions, I have selected this mysterious young woman as the lucky one. The answer is simple, but incredible, and it lies with the extraordinary group of people behind me." He turned to the magicians, several of whom cringed back. One young wizard began to weep. Then Valin nodded to the man who had spoken before, the Head Sorcerer, Lucy recalled, who stepped away from the group to stand beside the king.

"For years, our noble country has grappled with internal issues of seemingly unsolvable magnitude," he began. "Overpopulation. Famine. Disease. All this time, our great king has endeavored to find a way to overcome all these challenges for his people. And at last a solution has been found. At last, we have discovered a way to deliver beloved Caelan from the noose of her twin prisons and the Void betwixt them. With the combined power of the Superiorly Talented, we have discovered something so incredible, you may not believe until we prove its existence to you. We have discovered something that has the potential to eliminate all the hunger and poverty of our people. We have discovered a supply of unlimited resources, waiting only for us to take them. We have discovered a second world."

The declaration visibly shocked everyone in the room but the magicians, the assorted royalty, and a few of the highest-ranking military officers. Immediately, an explosion of murmurs blossomed in the crowd, with a few disbelieving laughs, but mostly the response was one of excitement and wonder. Lucy, knowing the catch, found her stomach churching. The wedding guests quieted once more as the Head Sorcerer stepped back into place and Valin raised his hand to settle them.

"It is true," he boomed with uncontained pleasure at their reaction. "And therein lies key to unlocking the mysteries of my bride-to-be. I present to you Queen Susan…of Narnia."

The named echoed off hundreds of pairs of lips as every eye turned to her. Lucy froze where she was. Valin continued talking as they gawked, stroking the horn on his belt.

"When we made our third venture into this second world, called Narnia by those who inhabit it, we were most savagely attacked by a band of soldiers headed by this same young woman and one other. Luckily, we were able to overcome the rogues with minimal damage to our own persons, and slay several of the beasts that accompanied them. One of their number escaped. And the last of them stands behind you now, soon to become my wife and an invaluable asset to our cause. With Narnia's queen at my side, its people will much more easily come to see things our way. With a little extra leverage, they will bow to our will unconditionally. And it just so happens that I have that extra leverage."

Lucy began to search for the box that contained her sister's bow and quiver under the pretense of rearranging the packages. No one noticed. They were too busy whispering to one another about what Valin could possibly mean – extra leverage? As he stepped to the side to clear the room's view of Peter and Edmund, their confusion only seemed to grow. But the king of Caelan just smiled.

"I present to you a spy captured in our own castle, a coward who attacked my royal person, then ran when the battle turned from his favor, a pathetic pretender to his country's throne," he declared, leering, and as Lucy's head snapped up, she knew from the looks on Edmund's and Susan's faces that it wasn't just her own blood beginning to boil. Valin spat out the finale of his introduction with great contempt: "Peter, High King of Narnia."

"You speak slander and untruth," Susan declared from the back of the room, her profile noble and imperious and utterly wrathful. Her brother lifted his eyes to her in gratitude and uncertainty and Lucy's heart broke to see that Peter was not far from believing what was being said about him. For his family's sake, he would not give up without a fight, but the self-doubt that always underpinned his noble spirit was blossoming in the light of what seemed like his final failure, and if something did not change soon, she worried he might give in to it. Valin motioned him forward and he went willingly, his back straight and his eyes bright with a strange sadness, a readiness to accept whatever would come next.

At the side of the room, Lucy's hands closed over a familiar, long, silver box – Susan's gifts. Her skin did not burn. The spell had been lifted.

"The land of Narnia is a wild place," Valin told his excitable subjects, who were hanging onto his every word. "There, animals have learned to act as humans and strange beasts roam unchecked. Though with our superior strength and strategy we could easily win a war against such ilk, I am at heart a gentle man and would prefer to avoid the bloodshed such action would inevitably create. Therefore, King Peter, I would like to propose a compromise."

Lucy stacked several boxes on top of the silver one, then threw a glance sideways, to be sure no guards were looking before the drawing her dagger and slitting open the side.

"Narnia will not compromise while you hold her monarchs captive," Susan cut in. The guards around her shifted uncomfortably, unsettled by the nature of their task – were they there to keep a prisoner silent, or to keep a queen-to-be safe? Valin's lip curled.

"I was not asking you, my dear," he said. "I was asking your…brother, is it?"

"Yes," she replied. "My brother. And any proposition you have for Narnia may be addressed to both of us."

Lucy slid her hand into the package carefully, remembering that the tips of Susan's bow were capped with short metal blades for close-range fighting. Amputation avoided, she felt for the bowstring, so that she might get her sister's weapon as ready as possible without removing it from the box and revealing herself.

"In Caelan, Susan, dove, you will learn when to let men do the talking," Valin told her, turning back to Peter. "Tell me, little king, have you in your country heard of a Promise Potion?"


	57. Fifty Seven

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.

* * *

Peter kept silent. Behind him, the Head Sorcerer withdrew a flask from his cloak and passed it down through three soldiers to his king, who uncorked it.

Fumbling around quietly in the box, Lucy found the bowstring and worked it into place on one side; Edmund had taught her how to do this and the memory of his nimble fingers over hers guided the loops, rather than her eyes, which she kept on the dais.

"A Promise Potion is the liquid manifestation of one of the most powerful spells a magician can learn in this country," Valin said, lifting the bottle up for everyone to see. "A man who drinks more than a few drops of it and makes an oath will be compelled to keep his word, no matter if it opposes his will. It is quite a useful diplomatic tool. Shall I demonstrate?"

He did not wait for an answer, but gestured one of his guards forward, a young soldier who looked surprised at the summons. He stepped up to his king and saluted, though Lucy thought he looked apprehensive. Valin handed him the flask.

"Drink a mouthful," he ordered. Uncertainly, the soldier obeyed. "Now swear you will climb the wall behind us and walk upon the ceiling."

"But…Your Highness," the man gaped. "That's impossible!"

"I gave you an order!" Valin barked. Cringing, the man looked around for an escape, but there was none.

"I swear I will climb the wall to walk upon the ceiling," he pledged obediently. And for a moment, nothing changed. The soldier handed the flask back to the king and the room (save for Lucy, who now sought to detatch the bow from the quiver) waited in complete silence. Then, slowly, the man's back twitched upright, and he began to fidget uncontrollably, and with a sudden, muffled yell, he took off towards the wall, leaping and scrabbling at the stone to absolutely no effect. The army men stayed stone-faced as they watched the humiliation. The wedding guests laughed.

"Only physical impossibility can force a man under the potion's influence to give up on his word," Valin told them, chuckling cruelly. "And even then…it takes some time. Take the fool away."

As three other soldiers dragged their protesting comrade away from the wall and out of the room, and as Lucy at last withdrew her hands from the box, having done all she could to ready her sister's bow, Valin turned back to her eldest brother.

"So now I make you an offer, Peter, King of Narnia," he said, drawing his sword and eyeing it as if the conversation was of little interest to him. "If you swear a little oath for me, I will spare your worthless life."

"Touch one hair on his head and I swear I will kill you," Edmund snarled, taking an aggressive step forward. "And I don't need any potion to guarantee that."

Instantly, Valin swung his sword and dealt him a sharp slap with the flat of the blade, leaving a red welt leaking blood on his cheek, but the young king barely cried out, and stayed where he was. Peter stepped up beside his brother, placing himself between him and Valin, cool-eyed and calm.

"I will swear nothing to endanger my country," he said quietly, so quietly that Lucy could just barely hear him from her side of the room. "If that means my life is forfeit, then so be it."

"Oh, I'm not asking you to endanger your country," Valin said. "I am merely trying to guarantee a smooth transition between your sovereignty and mine. You will lead my army into your castle and welcome us as guests. Then you will lead your own on a false errand – I'm sure your sister could come up with something, she has quite the silver tongue – and I will announce myself as Narnia's new High King. There need be no danger or bloodshed. Here, I have prepared a statement for you. You need only to read it."

As Valin retrieved a small scroll from his belt, Lucy focused her gaze on Susan, hoping to catch her eye to tell them where her bow was, but kept listening carefully, thinking fast for a next step.

"I will not read it," Peter replied evenly.

Valin laid his sword blade against the High King's bare neck in unspoken threat.

"I should hate to rid Narnia of its only king," he warned, reminding Lucy that he did not know who Edmund really was.

"Better Narnia lose her High King than fall into your hands," Peter said, meeting his brother's eyes for just a moment, just as Lucy caught Susan's, and knew that despite the shock in them, she had gotten her message across. Gritting his teeth, Valin let his sword drop and suddenly thrust the flask up before Peter's lips.

"Drink!" he ordered. Peter eyed him with cold defiance. Letting out a growl of frustration, Valin seized the back of his neck and tipped his head back, forcing the head of the bottle into his mouth. Edmund lunged forward, but the guard behind him threw him to his knees and jerked his bound hands backwards, rendering his struggles useless. When Peter began to choke and swallow involuntarily, Valin pulled the bottle back and corked it, waiting impatiently for him to catch his breath, then again thrust the scroll at him.

"Swear the oath," he demanded. Peter only glared, still coughing a little. "Swear the oath or I will cut your head from your shoulders!"

"Then do so already!" Peter shouted back. "For I will not!"

Valin snarled and lifted his blade to strike, but Edmund wrested himself free, scrambling to his feet and throwing himself in front of his brother, who for the first time cried out in fear. But the blow never fell – Valin stopped mid-swing, seemingly struck by a new idea.

Lucy was, too, but she didn't know how to put it into action. Susan's horn was, after all, hanging from the belt of their deadliest enemy at the moment. But if she could somehow get there…

"Such loyalty you inspire, King Peter," Valin remarked. "I wonder…you care so little for your own life, but perhaps…you would show more concern for the life of one of your subjects. Perhaps we could test your own loyalty, hmm?"

Lucy moved sideways, towards the end of the table closest to the dais. She didn't want to find out what Valin had meant by that. But he was moving again – to her surprise, he drew a short knife from his belt and cut Peter's hands free. A second later, a soldier passed down a familiar blade – Rhindon – and Valin placed it in Peter's grasp, taking a step back. Peter, aside from accepting his sword, did not move; he was not stupid enough to attempt anything while he and his brother were in such a precarious position. Meanwhile, two of the guards had pulled Edmund away again, though he was giving them a hard job of it, and they had to twist his arms back yet further to get him to stand still.

"I can make you a murderer," Valin threatened Peter, stepping behind him and placing a chilling hand on his elbow. He was a powerful man – at his push, the High King was forced to lift up his blade, and out it stretched, until the very tip of it…Lucy's breath whipped out of her body as she remembered the story of Vareth's fall from the throne, the set-up, the witnesses, the _murdered soldier_…

Rhindon's tip touched Edmund's chest, and the two brothers locked eyes.

"You are willing to die for Narnia," said Valin to Peter, his hand tight on the High King's sword arm, "But are you willing to kill for her?"


	58. Fifty Eight

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. Just so's you know, I leave tomorrow morning and won't be back until late Friday PST. So no updates until then at least.

* * *

"King Peter," Valin said, his voice quiet and threatening, watching the High King's face carefully. "I will ask you once more. Swear the oath."

Peter's hand trembled on his sword as he was forced to hold it to his brother's chest, the point resting just over his heart. If Valin forced his hand…he opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off before he could begin.

"My lord," Edmund said very deliberately, his eyes boring into Peter's. "Your duty is to Narnia. Swear nothing. I will gladly die for my country and my king."

"Oh, but it's not that simple," Valin reminded him, pressing harder on Peter's elbow; Rhindon's sharp tip cut through the thin fabric of Edmund's tunic and met his skin instead. "I have a room of witnesses. If they can truthfully say they saw his hand drive the blade, then such a testimony will bear under a Truth Potion. Would your country take a murderer as its king?"

"Narnia trusts its High King more than any magic," replied Edmund, still communicating something silently to Peter. "My king is not a murderer if he does not have free will."

"King Valin," Susan's voice cut across the room, dangerous, but with an undertone of intense concern. "You have seen Narnia's defenses. You have spied on her armies. You know you cannot win a war against them, whether or not we are there to lead them. And if you harm her king in any way…you _will _get a war, make no mistake."

Valin cursed irritably, obviously embarrassed that this was not going as he planned. The wedding guests were shifting in their seats, apparently growing bored with the scene, while the guards stood very still.

"Swear the oath!" he repeated again, bellowing in Peter's face. "Or your sister's life is forfeit too!"

Peter finally turned his eyes away from Edmund's to look right at the dictator.

"I swear…" he began in a soft voice, and Edmund opened his mouth furiously to object but never got the chance, because Peter had already finished the oath: "I swear that if you bring harm to my family…I will not let my sword rest until one of us is dead."

Valin looked intimidated for a split second, but quickly composed himself, cursing and reaching back down to his belt to pull the flask of Promise Potion back up.

"You've wasted an oath, boy," he snarled, uncorking it.

Lucy, at this point, was as close to the dais as she could get without leaving the table and thus her disguise. Danya had not been able to complete the charge from this point to the dais, but Lucy was smaller, and she wouldn't be carrying a heavy sword, and her goal was not Valin but the horn on his belt, because this hour seemed as dark as it was going to get, and they could not do this alone. She waited for a better moment – one where everyone was distracted, so that she might get closer before they noticed her…

"My Lord!" a voice cried out into the hall, startling everyone. In the back doorway, just behind Susan, stood a panting page boy who'd clearly just run in. Valin looked up and released Peter's head, leaving him to choke and swallow down the rest of the potion he'd been forcing him to drink. "My Lord, the Wren is docking. Your guests should be here in minutes."

"Good," said Valin, slipping the flask back into his belt pouch and replacing his hand on Peter's arm as the young king recovered, still coughing. "Whether or not I have your oath, King Peter, my wedding will begin when they arrive. But whether or not I become a widower on my wedding day…that is up to you."

"I have given you all the oaths I will ever swear to you," Peter said, though Lucy caught a final, bitter defiance in his voice. This was his ultimate nightmare – forced to sacrifice his siblings' lives, not his own, for Narnia's sake…

Valin cursed yet again and pulled his arm back, taking Peter's with it.

"Then I have none to wait for," he hissed.

Lucy realized at the last second that he was done bargaining, forgot everything, and began her charge. No one in the room noticed, frozen stock still as Valin's arm forced Peter's forward, the blade rushing down, plunging towards Edmund's unprotected chest…

"_No!_"

The cry ripped itself from her throat as she drew her dagger, her feet pounding across the stone, and at the same instant, she heard Peter let out a roar of some unnamable pathos. No one breathed; no one blinked; Lucy flew past the benches and up towards the dais as the world suspended itself on the tip of one sword.

And then, at the very last second, Peter's arm rippled and jerked.

The blade twisted up, and in the space of a split second, sank deep into Edmund's right shoulder. The younger king screamed and gasped and turned his eyes up to his brother as his body sagged against the sword where it ran right through him, but he was not dying, not dead, as he would have been if Valin's blow had landed true.

Around the front, towards the stairs; still Lucy ran, eyes on the white horn on Valin's belt as he stepped back, leaving Peter's hand alone on Rhindon's hilt. The guards on the wall seemed to have noticed her, and two of them broke off from the ranks to chase after her, but she had a head start. Just as she bounded up the first stair, Lucy saw her brother's back twitch, rather like the unfortunate soldier's had done when the Promise Potion had taken its effect, and next she saw Valin freeze uncertainly and cast a glance to the Head Sorcerer. But before either of them had a chance to react, Peter pulled his sword out of his brother's body and swung around it with terrifying strength and speed, his eyes flashing with something Lucy could not identify. Valin shouted in fear and jumped backwards, narrowly avoiding decapitation, and immediately drew his own sword as several guards rushed forward to stop him.

Even as Peter smashed them aside one by one with a near-inhuman strength, Lucy shot up the last few stairs, knowing that no matter what magic held him, her brother would not hurt her, and that no matter how brave and strong he was, they needed more help than his sudden freedom. She needed to reach that horn!

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Susan abruptly pick up her skirts and walk confidently towards the table of gifts. The guards trotted after her obediently, mistaking conviction for right. More soldiers rushed away from the walls and up towards where Peter was already fighting with their comrades and their king, where Lucy was standing, waiting for the right moment.

"Stay your blade!" Valin bellowed at Peter in confusion and fear, ducking back behind a few guards who'd rushed up from other places on the dais, including the two who'd previously been restraining Edmund. The young king lay face-down on the stone, his shoulder bleeding profusely; he seemed to have fallen unconscious, but Lucy knew that his only hope was the cordial, which she did not have. She could not help him, not now…

"Have you forgotten already?" Peter shouted back at Valin, deftly side-stepping a guard's thrust and tripping him with his own sword. "I don't see either one of us dead yet!"

"I've done nothing to harm your sister!" Valin protested, forced now to throw up his blade to block a swing of Peter's as the High King smashed past the guards, who were shoving past one another in their hurry to come to their king's defense and actually making Peter's job easier. Lucy went nearly unnoticed among them with this new threat, ducking under their arms, trying to get to the king.

"My oath did not hinge on my sister's well-being but on my family's," Peter reminded him, eyes alight. And Lucy abruptly realized that indeed, with the Promise Potion in effect, Peter would not, could not stop his charge, now…but there were so many guards; he could only last so much longer. Already he had received several slight injuries, cuts and knocks and near-misses. His oath would be his own death knoll if she did not act quickly.

Drawing her dagger, she plunged forward into the melee, side-stepping the flying blades and stumbling guards, mostly unnoticed for her stature and for Peter's more conspicuous presence. She didn't have to use her weapon until she was but a few feet away from Valin, when a guard finally made an attempt to stop her, and was surprised to find out that the little girl actually _did _know how to use that weapon after all. He sank to the floor, gurgling, as she jumped over him and reached out a trembling hand for the horn. If Valin would only move a smidgeon closer…

Peter's sword sang through the air. Valin dodged. Lucy surged forward, stretching her arm as far as she possibly could, and caught hold of the horn, tumbling over herself and slipping to the floor but holding on tight in triumph. Without a second thought, she lifted her head up, pulled it to her lips, and blew.


	59. Fifty Nine

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. After some thought, I've redone the end of this chapter.

* * *

The call was loud and startling, and even Lucy almost jumped when the horn's sound leapt out into the room, bright and clear and rich, but she held her composure and the note, forcing all the air she had into the neck of her sister's gift to sustain the sound. For a split second, everyone in the room stopped what they were doing, too stunned by the noise to continue. Then Valin suddenly screamed and wrenched away, and Lucy sprawled on the ground before him, completely exposed to attack from the swarm of guards near them.

Peter reached her before them, though, and she heard swords clash over her head before she had recovered her own dagger and slashed out from the floor at the nearest guard's feet.

Across the room, removed from the melee that the wedding guests were watching with much interest, Susan had reached the present table, while her entourage of guards clustered about unhelpfully behind her. She calmly pulled out the long silver box and reached into it, feeling for the handle of her bow and the arrow Lucy had readied for her. Peering over her shoulder, one of the guards hesitantly asked,

"What are you doing?"

"Stand back," she warned him.

"What?"

"Move!"

It was a command, and he obeyed hastily, which was the smart thing to do – a second later, the blade-tipped end of Susan's bow swung out into the space he'd occupied only a moment before, her fingers already flourishing the arrow into place, her arm stretching back and making the silver ribbons on her wedding gown flutter in the air. With a _zing, _she released it, a tilted shot that soared diagonally over the heads of the wedding guests, reached its peak and swiftly plunged into the mêlée on the dais.

Lucy heard the shot coming and could have shouted for happiness at the knowledge that her sister had joined the battle. The arrow had clearly been aimed for Valin, thus the arced shot, but there was no clean attack on him from such a distance and it struck a guard instead, felling him nearly on top of Lucy, who was still trying to regain her footing after falling down to blow the horn. Above her, Peter fought to overcome three guards and defend his baby sister as well as to attack Valin, as the Promise Potion forced his will to that end; his eyes were lit with a strange mix of battle wrath and the glassy glow of the Potion's hold.

Finally, rolling out of a dodge from the hack of a guard's sword, Lucy managed to pull herself up by an opponent's belt and join the fray. Her goal now was to prolong the fight and protect her family until the horn's help arrived, which she felt it _must _ - the blast had been magic, she had felt that herself. To prolong the fight, they needed as many swords as they could get, and for that, she needed to heal Edmund, who still lay unconscious on the ground, forgotten in the guards' rush to stop Peter from attacking their king. And for that, she needed her cordial, which was currently on Valin's belt. Ducking under the swipe of another blade, she made for him, her short blade dancing among the guards, her swift feet keeping her out of harm's way for the most part.

But just before she could reach him, a blade sliced a swift path in front of her, and she jumped backwards only to feel a horrible pain explode in the back of her right leg. Crying out in pain, she stumbled backwards and nearly collapsed, saved only by her bumping into yet another guard, who shoved her away and raised his sword to strike only to find it blocked by Peter's. She tumbled to the ground in a haze of pain and confusion, with mayhem in her ears, unable to make out what was going on and feeling blood beginning to stain her skirts. Above her, a soldier swung his club and managed to clip Peter's head, sending him pitching forward into another, who threw him down to the ground and stamped on the wrist of his sword arm, pinning it to the ground cruelly. Valin had scrambled back out of all of their reaches. And just then, she realized just how mad this was – they were three ill-equipped warriors, facing hundreds of armored guards. Only a miracle had even kept them alive until now. Only a miracle would rescue them.

Back at the gift table, Susan fought to recover from the attack her first arrow had provoked – swarmed by guards, she used her weapon to the best of her advantage, but her bow was truly a long-range weapon even with its bladed tips, and they were beginning to overcome them. In desperation she ducked down to thrust the tip once more towards a guard, but missed the chink in his armor, instead hitting the steel plate, and he used the gap in her momentum to wrest the bow out of her hands and cast it aside. Moments later, she found herself wrenched upright, arms twisted behind her back painfully and forced to stand still as the guards picked themselves up off the ground.

The scene slowed. The wedding guests who had stood up to get a better view sat down. The rush of guards eased from a swarm to a trickle as they pulled all of their captives to their feet, leaving Edmund where he'd fallen on the dais, still face-down and motionless. Peter continued to struggle, the potion holding him to his word though the three guards who restrained him prevented him from keeping it. Two others wrenched Lucy to her feet and looked to their king for direction. And the room gradually fell near silent.

But not quite.

Two different kinds of footsteps were sounding into the room. One was the somewhat distant, insistent marching of a great crowd. Another was a single set of scrambling footfalls, and predictably, the page boy burst in once more, out of breath, jumping backwards in alarm at the reorganization of the room and the many fallen guards.

"Ah…Your Majesty?" he said uncertainly. Valin, who had opened his mouth to speak to the guards nearest him, shut it and looked up in impatience.

"What is it?" he growled.

"It's the wedding guests, sir, they've just come through the gate and they're headed into the castle. But…"

"Excellent," Valin said, cutting him off. "Then we shall save this last demonstration for when they arrive, and my wedding can at last begin."

"But Your Ma…"

"Silence!" Valin snapped. "Clear the bodies from the dais. Escort my feisty little bride back to her place. When I've finished with her brother, she shall process across his blood and we shall wed, and drink to a future of prosperity in her home country."

The marching of feet grew louder in the background as the guards shoved Susan forward, forcing her to move back towards the start of the white carpet and her place for the ceremony. Lucy was made to stand between two guards below the dais, where she could still see Peter and Valin, the former bleeding and defeated, the latter with his sword out and black eyes glinting hungrily. The remaining guards dragged the bodies of their compatriots out of the way, Edmund's with them; Lucy bit her lip anxiously, wondering if they might already be too late to save him. Or perhaps…she almost allowed herself the thought…perhaps it was finally too late, not just for him…but for all of them.

In the back of the room, the doors flew open, and a most unexpected battle cry filled the air:

"For Narnia! For the Lion!"


	60. Sixty

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.

* * *

So many things happened at once that later, Lucy wasn't sure if she'd dreamed it all. As she and everyone else turned to the back of the room in total surprise, wondering what sort of wedding guests arrived with a war cry like that, another figure stepped out from a hidden passageway near the front, and unnoticed by all, dispatched the guards holding Danya and Roche. No one but them noticed, too shocked by the enormous crowd of armored warriors that was then sweeping into the room, weapons aloft, one familiar man at its head.

"Timothy!" Lucy cried in surprise, hope rising anew in her breast. He seemed not to hear her, but charged on, the troops behind him surging around the cluster of guards surrounding Susan and spilling into whatever space was unoccupied – the aisle, the sides of the room, all rushing up towards the dais and the guards gathered against the walls, who were now drawing blades, charging to meet their sudden opponents. Strangely, every man and woman in this new force wore tunics of tattered black, their armor dented and marked but still serviceable, as if it had seen some great battle and then been forgotten for hundreds of years. In the benches, the actual wedding guests began to scream and panic, the men drawing blades too ornamented to be of use, the women clutching at one another and bursting into frightened tears. But Timothy's army ignored them entirely, and an instant later, the first blow fell and the battle began.

The guards holding Lucy had dropped her to draw their swords, and she took the opportunity to lurch away, her injured leg slowing her down. One of them shouted and grabbed for her, but she ducked down and rolled, almost tripping up one of the black-clad soldiers, who raised her saber to strike but stopped when she saw who she was about to fell.

"My queen!" the woman uttered, and suddenly reached down to pull Lucy to her feet. Bewildered by the address but grateful for the rescue, Lucy nodded her thanks in a hurry.

Instantly, she jolted off, ignoring her limp and the pain in her calf, racing clumsily back towards the dais, dodging through the battle, the clash of black-clad soldiers on palace guards. She had to get the cordial to Edmund – no one in this army had seen him injured, no one would know to help him. If she didn't get it to him, who would?

Unfortunately, she discovered soon after getting up onto the dais that Valin had retreated back behind his guard using the altar as a barricade and standing well back from any of the danger, like a true coward. She wouldn't be able to reach him without fighting through his soldiers, and even without an injury that would be a difficult feat.

Abruptly, two things happened: the wave of black-clad warriors smashed into the ring of palace guards, and a voice boomed out over the melee, amplified like Valin's had been, but it was not his voice, but a deeper, hoarser tone, a voice that sounded as though it had been in disuse for quite some time.

"All soldiers loyal to the double crown, throw down your weapons and you will be spared!"

The battle froze for an instant, necks whipping about to determine the source of the sound, and Lucy saw then that it was Vareth, broken chains dangling from his wrists, standing atop the gift table and flanked by several dozen servants, who'd armed themselves with spare swords as well as pokers, frying pans, cleavers and a myriad of other makeshift weapons. Some were injured; others were supporting them, but all of them looked grimly satisfied at the looks of astonishment on the guards' faces.

"This is a trick!" Valin roared, his voice also amplified, and Lucy saw the Head Magician standing nearby, retreated beyond the guards with a few underling magicians as well. The others had fled the dais, though, and a few of them had backed Vareth. Lucy sensed a great divide approaching. "An illusion! Guards! Arrest them at once!"

He may has well have ordered the tide back, though; not only were his guards completely overwhelmed by the army of people – Narnians? – who had come rushing through the doors, but they seemed utterly torn about the situation anyway. Vareth held up an old-looking sword, pointing it towards the dais though his arms trembled and his starved frame seemed to protest the action.

"I am no illusion, brother," he called across the room to Valin, his eyes steady even when his body was not. "I have come to reclaim my throne. If you surrender now, I will not have to take it from you."

"This is ridiculous! Are you loyal to your country or are you going to side with this criminal?" Valin roared to the guards around him, who had frozen in indecision. Seemingly spurred, they raised their blades again, and the black army surged up in response, ready to drive the battle to a bloody conclusion, but Vareth spoke up again.

"Listen! I am no criminal. I am Vareth, a rightful king of Caelan, and you, brother, have thrown away your right to the crown with treachery and manipulation. Soldiers of the realm, make your choice now. Side with me and you will be spared. Side with my brother and you will face this battle to its end and either perish or live to be imprisoned alongside him."

And this seemed to be the last convincing anyone needed. All but about a dozen guards dropped their weapons, holding up their hands in surrender to Timothy's mysterious army, and as if being washed from the stone, began to swarm away from the dais and the false king, along with all the magicians excepting the Head. Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy saw Danya catch two of them by the arm and draw them towards the corner where the injured lay groaning, Edmund among them. She limped towards them, unopposed by anyone now, as all Valin's loyalists had gathered about him on the dais protectively, looking rather frightened at the prospect of facing seven-score warriors – they were outnumbered more than ten to one.

Lucy heard the scattering of the deserters' feet just as her own injured leg gave out, but a pair of strong arms caught her before she could hit the ground.

"Easy does it, little queen," Timothy told her, swiftly picking her up and carrying her over to where several magicians were now tending to the wounded who'd been dragged off the dais earlier.

"Where did you come from?" she asked him in shock as he set her down and she crawled towards Edmund, above whom a middle-aged woman was crouched, uttering a quick word as she poured clean water over the wound in his shoulder.

"I'll explain later, Your Majesty," Timothy said from behind her, and she heard his footsteps retreating back into the room. Just as she turned to thank him, Edmund let out a sharp yell and a loud curse, and she turned back ready to scold him when she saw how his face was contorted in pain, but he was awake, and certainly alive. She grasped his hand quickly and looked up to see what was going on with Valin. She could not imagine he would surrender, but what other options did he have?

On the dais, two people were approaching the lone tyrant from where he stood behind the altar, looking utterly furious and confused and frightened all at once, sword out and pointing at each of them in turn. One was Vareth, who walked as if it pained him to do so; Lucy imagined that he hadn't walked more than a few dozen steps in all his years imprisoned, but still his back was straight and his pace was steady, as though will alone kept him moving forward towards the brother who'd betrayed him so many years ago. The other was Peter, eyes flashing in anticipation of what was to come, the force of his vow and his duty to his family lighting up the pride Lucy had been missing in him since Susan's disappearance even despite his current injuries. The two advanced like twin behemoths, swords at their sides, united against the common enemy of their two countries.

The whole room fell silent, an anticipant hush drawing all eyes to the three men near the thrones, to the bloodshed or surrender that had to follow.

Lucy had expected Valin to make some sort of speech of defiance, to try and salvage his dignity, but he did not. With sudden fury, he raised his blade, let out a roar of challenge and lunged towards his elder brother, a skilled, heavy blow rushing towards the frail man. But Peter was equally quick, and Rhindon flew out into the space between, blocking the blow before it could fall, the blades sliding against each other with the metallic song of steel on steel.

"You never understood power," Vareth told his brother as Peter and Valin withdrew a pace, and all three circled carefully. "You always thought your power came from yourself, in this idea of a self-made man, a singular destined ruler. You thought you could achieve everything alone, brother. You never understood that every man draws his power from his allies, the others he trusts. I know I cannot win this battle by myself…"

"…But he doesn't need to," Peter finished, leaping in with an aggressive attack towards Valin's shins. The dictator had to jump out of the way, leaving him off balance, and Vareth dealt him a stinging blow to the backs of his legs. Whether he was reluctant to hurt him or too weak to do more, Lucy could not say; she could only clutch Edmund's hand as he grew stronger by the minute and the two watched, transfixed.

"Do you mock me?!" Valin demanded furiously, whipping around to try and keep them both in his sights, clearly on the defensive now.

"You are a mockery unto yourself, brother," Vareth scoffed, his footwork impeccable despite his long years in prison. "There is no need to mock you. Look around you. The kingdom you built has crumbled beneath your feet. You have no subjects, no authority, no hope of victory here. Every second you struggle will make your defeat all the more humiliating in the end."

"Shut up!" screamed Valin, rushing forward yet again. Peter lunged for it, but Vareth lifted his own blade and deflected most of the blow, though the shock of the impact knocked his sword from his hands. Valin whirled on Peter, lifting his blade to strike, but Peter was ready for it with a counter of his own, edging himself between the two brothers to defend the elder king.

A flurry of blows followed, too fast and hard for Lucy to follow well, but she knew that Peter would not lose, not when so much was at stake, not when he was fighting the same man who had kidnapped his sister and attempted to murder his brother. But suddenly, Peter's arms seemed to jerk and he stumbled clumsily, far apart from his normal grace. Valin raised his blade to capitalize on the momentary weakness, and Lucy cried out in terror as the blade neared, but at the last moment, Vareth's own sword rose up and deflected it; he had picked it up while Peter defended him. But now Peter remained still oddly stiff, moving slowly, his eyes flicking much faster than his body, looking completely out of sorts, and suddenly his hands lifted up in the air as if they were being lifted by someone else entirely, like his body was not in his control anymore. His feet jerked; he tripped and fell halfway to the ground before he was jerked back upright by no visible force at all.

Lucy opened her mouth to cry out in horror – something was going horribly wrong. Peter looked as though he was being held up by some invisible marionette strings. A ripple of confusion and shock shot through the crowd as Valin lifted his blade swung it hard down at his brother, who blocked once and dropped the sword again, too weak to hold it against such a forceful blow. Peter's eyes widened and his mouth opened in silent protest, but his arms had been stretched up against his own will, his sword high above his head. Valin copied the motion, his blade rising high above his head, ready to come down on Vareth's unprotected neck….

A dozen of Timothy's allies had already begun the charge up to defend the two beleaguered kings, but clearly, there was no way they could stop this. Valin let out a bellow of victory, and the muscles in his arms flexed furiously as he changed his sword's direction and it began its fatal descent.

Arrows run faster than people and swords.

Susan's split the air above the crowd's head, whistling into the Head Magician's shoulder with a fleshy _thock_, and the marionette strings above Peter's head snapped. Sudden gravity took its course. Rhindon fell, and it had less distance to travel than Valin's own blade; before anyone could blink, it sank into the tyrant's back, and Vareth managed to stagger out of the way as his brother collapsed in wordless agony, screaming his pain to the room. Peter retrieved his sword, breathing heavily, looking to Vareth.

"Valin, little brother," the elder king said softly, kneeling down, his arm reaching out to rest on his sibling's shoulder even as he twitched and screamed on the ground. "We could rule together again. A second chance. I can save you."

Valin made a move for the cordial on his belt, but his hands were too jerky; he couldn't manage it. Vareth stilled his hand and drew out the bottle himself.

"I can give you a second chance," he repeated, his voice broken and tired as he unscrewed the top, waiting.

"I would sooner die than receive your pity!" Valin screamed out, even as he convulsed, blood soaking through the back of his white tunic. Lucy flinched at the hatred in his voice, wondering how two brothers could be so entirely different; after all these years, Vareth was ready to forgive, but Valin would take his pride with him to the grave.

"You have had my pity for six long years," Vareth told him, rising up to his feet. Valin rolled onto his side, gasping and choking up blood; he could not last much longer. "I wish you blessings, brother, wherever your next journey takes you. I hope you carry your lessons with you."

Valin opened his mouth, but no words came out. For a long, long moment, there was total silence in the room as he tried to work up the venom and the energy to speak. Then his head fell back on the tile, and his eyes slid shut even as they rolled up in the sockets, and it was all over. The dictator was dead.

"Lucy," said Edmund softly, his hand tight around hers. "I'm tired. Can we go home now?"


	61. Sixty One

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. Today, August 24th, I leave for two weeks on a choir tour of South Africa. I'm not sure I'll have internet access, so I may or may not be able to update while I'm away. Sorry for the awkward updating, by the way; my summer schedule is crazy.

* * *

Cleaning up the hall took far less time than Lucy might have imagined – there had been little real bloodshed in the short battle, and with an entire castle's worth of servants and magicians (many of whom seemed relieved to be cleaning at last, as opposed to anything more advanced or dangerous), the throne room looked almost as it had before, minus the wedding decorations, though the altar and the carpet remained. Peter and Susan converged on their younger siblings immediately after, the High King reluctantly submitting to a quick magical binding of some of his injuries by a Caelanese healer while Lucy helped Edmund to his feet.

Words failed them for a moment. There was such a swarm of activity around them, so many unfamiliar voices, so much confusion left still, that what ought to have been a heartfelt reunion ended up as more of an overwhelmed silence, the four of them staring blankly at each one another.

"Well," said Susan finally, looking from her weary-eyed older brother to her bloodstained younger brother to her shell-shocked little sister. "Thank Aslan _that's _done."

Peter was the first to hug her because he was nearest, crushing her to him as if he'd never let her go; her surprise was muffled into his shoulder as his face screwed up with a what Lucy couldn't really call a mix of emotions – it was a _complication _of them, of relief and pent-up fear and released anger and utter ecstasy that at last, his family was all safe, all in one place. Lucy joined in a moment later, throwing her arms up around her biggest siblings, and Edmund looked awkwardly away until she grabbed his arm and pulled hard, and he stumbled into the hug with a yelp of surprise.

After a long moment, they parted, stepping back from one another reluctantly, and Lucy looked up to see Timothy approaching them. He was slightly knocked around from the brief battle, but on the whole he looked fine, and she had a thousand questions to ask him. But first, she realized, an introduction was in order.

"Your Majesties," he greeted, dropping quickly to one knee as he reached them. While Peter and Edmund hung back, Lucy stepped past them towards the soldier and waved a hand dismissively.

"There's really no need, you can still call us by our names," she said, taking his hand and helping him back up. "Timothy, this is my sister Susan, though I'm sure you've already guessed. And Su, this is Timothy – he's…well, it's a very long story. I suppose we'll have to explain it later."

"Wait," said Edmund suddenly, frowning. "You said you didn't believe we were kings and queens."

"Well, I didn't," replied Timothy. "But I do now. And I have to apologize to you, Queen Lucy, for stealing your magic rings in the middle of the night like I did. I do have an explanation, but first, here – you should take them back."

He reached onto his belt and carefully disentangled Lucy's small leather pouch from its place, pressing it into her hand gratefully.

"Thank you," she said, still utterly bewildered. It certainly showed on her face.

Abruptly, Ed wobbled on his feet; Peter caught his arm in concern, steadying his younger brother, who was rather pale.

"You all right?" he asked, looking him over carefully.

"He was just stabbed, Peter, you oaf, of course he's not all right. Ed, you ought to be sitting," Susan said practically, grabbing his hand and leading him over to the benches, which had been vacated rapidly by the wedding guests after the fight had ended. He sat down slowly as Peter followed them over anxiously, leaving Lucy standing next to Timothy.

"Perhaps the explanation can wait," she said, biting her lip. He nodded understandingly, giving her another slight bow.

"It can indeed, your Majesty. Whatever time suits you best."

She hurried after Peter, and they all gathered around Edmund, which of course only made him more cranky, and more eager to prove he was totally fine, which he wasn't.

"Lucy, where'd your cordial get to?" Susan asked her, frowning as she pulled back her little brother's collar to look at his half-healed injury; the Caelanese healers had done what they could but their work was nothing like that of Lucy's gift. A large scab remained, like he'd received the wound several days ago rather than scarcely an hour.

"I don't need the cordial, I'm not bleeding anymore," Edmund complained.

"Don't be an idiot," said Susan, at the same time that Peter said, "Don't be like me," and when he registered it, he looked rather startled and offended at the implication. His sisters both ignored him. His brother smirked.

"Last I saw, Valin had my cordial," Lucy frowned, stepping away a bit to look up towards where he'd fallen. The body was gone, no doubt moved with the bodies of the others who'd perished in this battle, but she saw that a few items had been laid up on the arms of his great stone throne. "Let me go check."

She was halfway up to the dais when she ran into another familiar face – Danya looked just as startled to see her, but immediately caught her in a celebratory embrace, spinning her around in surprisingly strong arms and planting a big wet kiss on her forehead.

"Lucy," she said breathlessly, her face alight in exhilaration. "We did it."

"You did it," Lucy corrected, smiling back. "I didn't really do anything. It was your interference that bought us the time we needed."

"Oh but Lucy, it was your people who saved us at the end," Danya protested, shaking her head. Lucy had begun to move away slightly, heading for the throne, but she stopped suddenly at those words.

"My people?" she asked in confusion. "I ah…no, that was just a friend of ours, he…I don't really know what he did, but they're not my people, so to speak. Not as a queen, they're not."

"But isn't your country called Narnia?" the maid asked in confusion. Lucy nodded, equally bemused. "Well…they all seem to think they're from Narnia."

Lucy, at this point, was feeling more confused than before she'd started asking anyone questions. But first things first – her brother needed tending to.

"Talk to me later," she said quickly. "I'm sorry – I have to do something."

Danya nodded with an easy smile, slipping quickly into step beside Roche, who'd been waiting for her, and Lucy could have sworn she saw the two kiss briefly before they hurried over to help with the returning of the wedding presents. She hurried up to the throne and sure enough, Susan's horn and her cordial were laid out there – she grabbed both and headed back down to her family, exhausted but safe and finally together. Soon, she told herself, the mysteries would resolve and they could all go home.


	62. Sixty Two

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. I might go back and edit this later.

* * *

Forty minutes later, the castle had finally settled down into relative order. The wedding guests, unnecessarily informed that there would be no wedding that day, had retreated to their rooms to gossip nervously about what would become of them under the new (old) king. Vareth had begun the process of weeding out the guard – he'd momentarily stripped all but a few he knew personally of their weapons, and nearly all had given them up quite willingly, eager to prove their loyalty to him. Until the investigation of a few suspected of involvement with Vareth's overthrowing closed, the majority would be on leave – there were no real threats from which to defend the castle, anyway.

The servants had been released on holiday for at least the day, given how hard they'd been working the past few weeks, and the magicians had happily taken down all the ridiculous magical decorations around the castle. Abruptly, everything looked much more real and much more welcoming; sunlight rather than false light lit the corridors, the trees bore only the fruit they'd grown and the city beyond the castle gates was exploding with celebration following the magical announcement of Vareth's return. Danya's prediction had proved true – the people were glad to have their better king back.

Inside the castle, in a cozy room with a glass ceiling (magically supported), a slightly exhausted group of unlikely allies had finally sat down to figure out what had happened and what ought to happen next.

"I hate to ask this," Susan had said, "But do you mind starting from the beginning? Lu didn't have the time to explain when I saw her before."

As best they could, Peter, Edmund and Lucy explained how they'd come to find her – Aslan's message, the rings, the dark world from which Timothy had come, their journey across the Void, and here the first mystery came in. When Lucy explained how she'd woken up to catch Timothy stealing the two rings from her belt, they looked to him. He was seated next to one other man dressed in black, who he'd introduced as his king; Lucy remembered the crown of bone in the audience hall and shivered, then noticed it had changed to silver and started slightly.

"Firstly, Queen Lucy, I apologize for frightening you," said Timothy, sounding sincerely regretful. "And I know you must have all thought I was doing it out of impatience, to go back and open up the other world, but I say to you truthfully, I had every intention of aiding you to the end of your quest. It was a dream that came to me, Majesty; I knew then I had to take the rings. I didn't think you would believe me, and so I made to take them in the dead of night. I knew it was imperative I do it as soon as possible."

"What sort of dream?" Edmund questioned from where he lay sprawled in a cushy armchair.

"A message, really," Timothy replied, casting a glance up at the sky through the ceiling. "A message from the Great Lion."

"You know of Aslan, then?" Peter asked in confusion, across the low table from the older man, seated on a long couch beside his sisters. "But I thought he was a lion only to Narnians."

"Well, Your Highness, that's the thing…I _am _Narnian. All of us are, actually. We're all Narnians."

"What?" said Susan, baffled, looking from Timothy to his companion, the old king. "But how is that possible?"

"Allow me to explain," the grizzled old man cut in. He was a very grave-looking fellow with a slightly unruly silver beard and tired, noble blue eyes. "Some hundreds of years ago – I can't say how long it has been in Narnia; it may be that you have never even heard our story. But a very long time ago, a great war was fought in our country, against a terrible sorceress from a land called Charn."

"You can't mean the White Witch," Lucy said, frowning confusedly.

"Some did call her that, yes," nodded the king. "You know of her, then?"

"Of course we do," said Peter. "We fought her, too, in our own time. It's only after we defeated her that we could restore the kingdom and ascend the thrones."

"Then you are indeed the fulfillment of the prophecy," smiled the king, his eyes sparkling with understanding. "Narnia had grown insensible to the old warnings. In that age, we let the Tree of Protection fall into disease and decay, and when it finally fell, war was upon us, from an enemy we could never defeat. We lost that war, and it was then that the White Witch banished every human in Narnia to this unknown world, where we laid in wait more than a century for rescue. She wished to prevent the prophecy from coming true."

The room was silent a moment – it was a lot of information to process.

"So every person in your world," Lucy began slowly, trying to see if she understood. "Every person was once a Narnian, many many years ago. Timothy…in a dream, Aslan told you to go and rescue your people, and to lead them back into this world? Is that right?"

"That's right," Timothy agreed, smiling. "After I took the rings, I went straight back to the other world – I remembered which pool it was; the water is darker. With a purpose, I could still remember who I was, not like I'd forgotten after being there so long in the first place. I came to King Ollen and told him I had found a way out, and he believed me because I was so very filthy after the Void, and there's no way to get that dirty in his world. So we gathered everyone, and I told them the situation, and we armed ourselves and came back to help you."

"But didn't you reappear in the wrong city?" Peter frowned. "I thought the rings would take you to the same place in each world each time."

"They did, actually," Timothy nodded. "But a massive army can be a useful bargaining tool. We convinced those last wedding guests they could wait and the magician took us over the Void by Wren. I see we arrived just in time, though."

"You certainly did," Susan nodded. "Thank you. We can't say it enough times. You saved all our lives."

"And you saved our kingdom," said Danya, speaking for the first time. She and Roche occupied a smaller couch. "Our thanks for that as well."

"But it was your king who brought an end to the battle," the old king, who Lucy assumed was King Ollen, pointed out.

"How did he escape, anyway?" Lucy asked curiously – it had just occurred to her that the last time she'd spotted Vareth, he'd been in prison, manacled; certainly unable to get up to the throne room on his own.

"I enlisted some help from the smithy," Danya shrugged. "When the servants saw what he'd done to Roche, they finally decided they had nothing left to lose. We'd agreed to revolt, with Vareth's support, but we never needed to once your army showed up."

"I think I'll need to hear this all over again before I understand it," Susan said, blowing out a long breath.

"I think I'm hungry, and that takes precedence," said Edmund randomly.

Susan stood up decisively.

"First things first, then, food. We can figure out what happens next later," she agreed.

"Well come on, then," said Danya with a smile, helping Roche up – he was still weak after his ordeal, despite the cordial. "We have a whole feast made for a wedding that never did happen. I'm sure we can dig you up something or another."

* * *


	63. Sixty Three

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. This chapter is a little short, but I'm winding down here. I'm 18 today (yesterday, considering it's rather late now) and it's weird to think I started this when I was just 16...

* * *

Danya did dig them up "something or another" – there was so much food left over from the wedding preparations that it had even been enough to feed the unexpected Narnian army, with just a little supplement from the larders. The Pevensies were joined at dinner by King Vareth, who had at last settled affairs to a degree that he could break for a meal, and they repeated a rather shortened version of their story to him, covering only the most essential points to save time.

It was only after the meal, as the sun set and tinged the castle with warm pink light, that they found themselves lingering by one of the picture windows in the Great Hall, and Susan finally brought up the real question:

"So…when are we going home?"

Her voice was quiet, contained, but Lucy caught the subtle longing in it and looked over at her. A moment of silence passed.

"Pretty soon, I'd expect," Peter replied finally, staring out the window at the grounds, at the people happily milling about in a scattered mix of noble and maid, soldier and smith.

That was ambiguous enough, but no one pursued the matter any further. Somehow, all of them felt the inexplicable desire to linger a little here, to celebrate their success with he people who understood its full scope, but that was balanced if not overwhelmed by their desire to return home, where the people they loved, who loved them back, all were.

"What are we going to do about all the Old Narnians?" asked Edmund suddenly.

"Well we certainly won't leave them here if they don't want to be left," Lucy said, thinking it out. "I suppose we'll take them back with us? To Narnia?"

"Things may have changed a little in the time they've been gone," Susan pondered. Peter chuckled.

"Doubtless they have," he agreed. "But Lucy's right. They'll come back with us. We'll have to arrange it so that the rings take us all, somehow. Everyone will have to hold hands."

"I'm sure they can manage it. Not everyone considers that a personal affront," said Susan with a meaningful look at Edmund, who stuck out his tongue and grinned to complement his sister's notion of his immaturity.

"After that, we'll have to try and settle them," Peter said, still thinking, stroking his chin; he needed to shave, or else grow a beard; his sisters always complained when it was in the in-between stage. Then again, he'd had a bit of a busy week. They all had. "Narnia's large enough to hold a few hundred more, I suppose. I just wonder how they'll mix with the new sort."

"Not everyone will be different, you know," Lucy pointed out. "Many of the dryads and the nymphs and things are more than a hundred years old. They may have been around the whole while."

"Good point," Peter conceded. He sighed. "In any case, let's do it in the morning. It'll be too much of a hassle to get everyone organized and leave tonight."

"Besides," said Lucy. "We have so many goodbyes."

And at this, the youngest queen was rather sadder than she supposed ought to have been. She had only known these people a few days, but something about facing a common enemy unites people much more rapidly than sunnier skies. She realized that once she returned to Narnia, she might not ever see her new friends again – Danya, Roche, Vareth, even the other maids with whom she'd worked before; they occupied another world. Once she returned to Narnia, they would fade into one another's memories for good.

"Hey," Susan said to her softly, and Lucy knew she understood. She slipped her arm around her younger sister's shoulders, letting Lucy rest her head against her shoulder.

"I think we're all tired," Peter said at last, straightening up from where he'd been leaning against the windowsill. "We ought to be getting to bed. Tomorrow we can work out the details of getting home."

"Home," Susan repeated, as if tasting the word. She smiled, then turned from the sill to follow her older brother, Edmund and Lucy behind her.

The four of them slept that night in a guest chamber, the girls in one bed and the boys in the other, for with the sudden arrival of several hundred new bodies, sleeping arrangements were a little tight.

In the morning, after speaking to a few of Vareth's new advisors and eventually Vareth himself, they began to establish a plan: Vareth's official re-coronation was to take place that afternoon, followed by a celebration with open castle gates, during which they would be recognized along with the other heroes of the hour. That night, as a closing of the celebration, they would assemble all of the Old Narnians and all their possessions, then use the rings to travel back through the Wood Between the Worlds and into Narnia itself. They could only hope they didn't pop up in Susan's room, from whence they had left – there was no way the whole army would fit.

They spent the rest of the morning preparing for the celebration; Roche's master the tailor fitted them out with appropriately ceremonious garb (though in Lucy's mind, the clothes were nowhere so nice and comfortable as Narnian dress clothes) and they managed to assemble all their gifts into one place; Susan wore her horn on her belt, as Lucy did with both her cordial and her dagger. Peter's shield and Susan's bow and quiver they left in their chambers, where they could collect them later before it was time to return.

It was hard for Lucy to think of going home after all that had happened. After such a long journey, their adventure was coming to a close; in just a few hours she would be leaving this country and returning to her real life, to her throne, her friends, her Narnia. The thought made her smile in excitement – no matter the adventure, home was always best.


	64. Sixty Four

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.

* * *

The coronation began with trumpets – real trumpets played by real people, no magic involved; the three musicians stood side by side and lifted their polished instruments to their lips to sound a triumphant fanfare of raw human talent. The music carried over the crowd, which had packed the throne room full to bursting; several people had to smoosh back into their fellows to keep their toes off the purple carpet that lined the way to the dais. Though the day outside was slightly drizzly, not the dazzling sunshine that would have made it a perfect storybook moment, nobody had tried to amend this with artificial light or extraneous, gaudy decorations. The people who had gathered were there to express their authentic joy and a little bit of rain wasn't going to mess with that, so they left it alone.

As the notes faded into the restless noise of the crowd, a human mixed salad of servants, courtiers, magicians and soldiers both native and foreign, the procession began and a roar of approval rose up to the high, stone ceiling. First in line was an honor guard of two soldiers in ceremonial regalia, holding the banner and standard of their country. Behind them, but drawing much more notice from the crowd, Vareth walked slowly up the aisle in the center of the room, supported at each elbow by Danya and Roche, who had been outfitted with exquisite costumes of blue and green velvet and satin, while the king wore red and silver. He was still weak, clearly, but his eyes shone proudly from his sunken cheeks and his gait was steady and proud. Across his chest he wore a band of black cloth, a reminder to the kingdom that he mourned his brother still, no matter the wrongs between them.

After these three came the new Magician's Council, comprised of only five people of varying ages and sexes (and heights – one was about two-thirds as tall as the next shortest, though her hat made up much of the difference). Next was Timothy, who walked alongside the king of the Old Narnians, who was in turn followed by the current Narnian monarchy. They walked two abreast, Lucy and Edmund preceding Peter and Susan, smiling to the enthusiastic crowd. All in all, there was an abundance of royalty. Closing the procession was another honor guard, again with banners, swords sheathed at their sides, leaving a respectful distance in front of them.

Lucy stood with her siblings at the front of the crowd (only those who really needed them used chairs) and watched the short ceremony with mixed emotions. With every swell of pride in the suddenly hopeful future of this unfamiliar country, she remembered she would soon be leaving it, and her spirits would drop for a moment before she would recall that she would be going home to her own court, her own castle, her own friends, and her disappointment would ease.

The new Head Magician, a woman in her thirties with a crooked nose and an alarmingly genuine smile, presided; Lucy noticed that the Caelanese coronation ritual was remarkably similar to the sort of wedding she remembered from her very first world – the king swore oaths of loyalty to his country, and in turn, the people gathered swore oaths of loyalty to him, and only after then did the presider settle the crown onto his head. He rose off his knees unsteadily, then straightened out and stabilized, raising his hands up to his subjects, who raised a deafening cheer of approval. Once again, the trumpets sounded, and the procession began to make its way out amidst all the yelling and cheering.

The next few hours passed in a whirl of color and laughter and music and dancing; it seemed the whole kingdom was celebrating. The courtyards, however damp, rang with live music, as if every musician in the kingdom had turned up to supply the revelers with dancing tunes, and more than one person was escorted to the more mellow, supervised lawns when he or she got a little too tipsy and consequently too creative with the dancing. Lucy didn't know any of the formal dances, but she joined in whole-heartedly with the less organized groups and dragged her siblings in more than once. They complained good-naturedly about her overwhelming energy, as all of them were quite exhausted (she had to poke Edmund awake more than once). With Danya, with the other maids with whom she'd been acquainted however briefly, with total strangers, she soaked up the joy of the double feast, the celebration of Vareth's kingship and the farewell banquet for the many Narnians who had helped to make it possible.

But when the sun had just begun to set, and a enormous, low bell sounded from the eastern tower of the castle to mark the first hour of the evening, the music ended, the dancing stopped, and Lucy knew: it was time to go home.

She made her way through the increasingly familiar passages to the room where she had stayed with her siblings the night before. Close to her destination, she bumped into Susan, who smiled and embraced her sister briefly before they continued on together to their chamber. Rhindon and its accompanying shield were no longer there, indicating that Peter had already come and gone, but Lucy's cordial and dagger as well as Susan's bow and quiver were still laid out on the bed. The girls retrieved their gifts, securing them in belts and shoulder straps, checked each other once over and headed back for the main courtyard in front of the castle gates – it was from here they would depart.

The courtyard was crowded, but not so much as it had been before. The people in it were mostly Narnians now, who waited in expectant silence under the darkening sky. Peter and Edmund stood in the center, talking in low voices with Timothy, who was nodding in agreement about something. The three of them looked up at the girls' approach and greeted them warmly, the two brothers kissing their sister's cheeks and welcoming them with a quick update – "We need to get everyone in a spiral, make sure we're all connected before we continue on. Timothy is going to have the second set of rings to stay behind briefly and make sure no one gets left, then he'll come with us to the Wood, and we'll all continue on to Narnia."

"That makes sense," Susan assented, and they broke company as Vareth emerged from the castle and headed towards the five of them at the center. He no longer wore his coronation clothes, though the black band remained.

"Friends," he greeted them as he approached. "I see you off with great sorrow. It is a shame to make and lose such true allies in a time so short. But I know you must be anxious to return to your homeland, and I am glad that you are doing so in safety of mind and body, knowing you are free from the threats my brother would have posed to you."

The four monarchs expressed their gratitude for the hospitality they'd been shown under him, and Peter agreed that it was too short a time. Soon, the Caelanese king was joined by his new head advisers, two familiar former servants who greeted the Pevensies with bittersweet warmth. Lucy threw her arms around Danya, pressing her face into the older girl's dark, coarse hair and mumbling a suddenly tearful goodbye.

"Hey, hey, don't look so sad," Danya said gently, patting her young friend's shoulder. "We may see each other again yet."

"When?" Lucy asked in confusion, sniffling.

"Perhaps someday you'll need our help, and we'll pop up in your castle in disguise," came the smiling reply, though Danya too looked sad to see them off. "Until that day…goodbye, Lucy Pevensie. It's time for you to bless your own kingdom."

"I know. All the same…I'll miss you."

They embraced again, for a moment longer, before Danya gently pulled away and smoothed Lucy's hair from her face.

"And I you, little queen. I won't forget you."

"Or I you."

Lucy gave a watery smile and straightened out, looking up to her siblings as Danya rejoined her king and her partner and retreated to the side as Peter drew his sword and lifted it up for attention. The crowd, even the Caelanese subjects gathered on the ramparts above, fell silent very quickly. With quick, clear directions, Peter had his old (new) subjects join hands and form a spiral, starting from his brother and sisters and expanding out into the courtyard, a huge, elegant shape that left everyone connected through arms.

"Don't let go, no matter what," he instructed them further, before remarking to the elder of his sisters under his breath, "And don't wander off. I swear, if I ever let you out of my sight again, I'll eat my boots."

"Peter," said Edmund thoughtfully, cocking his head to one side. "How long does that Promise Potion stuff last?"

Peter looked very perplexed.

"I have no idea, why?"

"I don't think you ever made a second oath," Edmund explained with a grin.

Distracted, Peter finished his check of the area and at last began to reach for the rings. Lucy caught a last glimpse of the night sky of Caelan, then she felt a familiar jerk and everything blurred but Edmund's laughter, ringing in her ear. The last words she heard before she was hurled into some unknown cosmos en route to the Wood Between the Worlds: "Hope your boots taste good, Peter."


	65. Sixty Five

I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. Sorry for the delay. One more to go, I think. Just an epilogue.

* * *

Peter, as it turned out, never did have to eat his boots. Though it wasn't clear exactly what had shaken off the effects of the Promise Potion – perhaps in the sudden world-jumping they had snagged on a comet, or maybe it was just that too much time had passed and they had worn off – when Lucy finally found him gasping for breath between two pools in the Wood Between the Worlds, having crawled away from the enormous crowd that had nearly squashed them all on the way in, he had no appetite for worn and dirty leather.

Reassembling the crowd took some time. There were so very many people making so very much noise that Lucy began to wish for one of the magicians they'd left behind, so that she might be able to shout above the din, if only to get them to settle down for just a moment. Finally, though, they managed to gather everyone – all two hundred and eighty six, as they had counted to be sure of not losing anyone, in a line, holding hands once again, with Susan at the fore with a green ring on her finger, closely followed by her eager family. She cast a glance back at them, unable to hide a smile of anticipation as Peter finally knelt to pick up the lion token he'd left by the side of the Narnia pool to mark which one it was. He rejoined the line, and at last, his sister moved forward, her feet dipping into the clear, calm water.

With another whirl through the cosmos, feeling like she was part of everything and made of nothing all at once, Lucy abruptly felt her feet touch solid ground. Before she had even opened her eyes, she knew without a doubt that they had returned home – the air in her lungs was light and clear, with the faintest hint of sweetness; she could not have mistaken it for anywhere else. When at last she did take a look around, she discovered that they had thankfully not appeared in Susan's room, as they had anticipated, but were instead in a wood, and by the look of the trees she guessed that they had arrive in Owlwood. That meant that they were about a few hours' travel northwest of the Cair.

Coming to her senses, Lucy noticed that it was startlingly quiet. Where before, following the journey through the wood, the crowd had been chattery and unruly, this time, no one spoke a word. She turned around, wondering if someone had accidentally broken the chain during the journey, if they'd left someone behind, but the crowd remained – yet no one spoke. They appeared transfixed, staring back and forth at their surroundings, most with their mouths slightly open in what looked to be wonder.

"Ah…are you all right?" Lucy finally asked a young man next to her, placing her hand gently on his arm. He jumped, clearly startled, shaken somehow out of his reverie.

"Oh, yes, yes, your Highness," he said quickly, shaking his head as if to clear it. "It's just…it's been such a long time. I don't think any of us thought we'd ever come back."

Lucy remembered the feeling she'd had just a moment ago, upon realizing they had returned home, and noted that she'd been gone all of a week and a half. These people had been gone for years, or even hundreds of years. She tried to multiply the feeling in her memory, but gave up. Nothing she could picture could possibly equal the overwhelming emotion the Old Narnians must have been feeling at that moment.

It took some time for things to settle. Many people cried – some out of sheer joy, and some at remembering what they had lost in the meanwhile. Lucy saw an elderly couple weeping softly in one another's arms, friends of all ages embracing one another in tearful ecstasy, and several people who immediately fell to their knees and kissed the ground. Some people shouted thanks to Aslan. Some people inquired eagerly to the Pevensies what the current state of affairs was in the country, about where they might go, if their homes were still intact. They could not answer all the questions, but they fielded them as best they could, and some nearby dryads helped with what they could.

Just when Susan suggested to Edmund that he make a brief speech of welcome, there was a rather unexpected development. Lucy saw it first – a certain lion pacing steadily through the trees towards them, the rich gold of his mane a beautiful contrast to the deep, vivid green of the forest, and a hush swept through the crowd. Edmund gracefully bowed out of Susan's offer, knowing that however talented a tongue he may possess, he could say nothing that Aslan could not say better. And speak the lion did.

Afterwards, Lucy could not remember what he had said, only that it had been short and perfect. After listening, she knew that no matter their fears about introducing near three hundred people back into the country after they had been gone more than a hundred years, things would work out. Aslan was there to guide them, and if he had entrusted them to lead the country, it must mean that they possessed the mental resources to overcome this particular problem. And so the journey home began, the Lion striding out before his people to lead the way.

It was nearing midnight when they reached the Cair, but word had clearly spread through the trees and the birds: a huge crowd waited at the gates that normally closed at sundown but were currently wide open, with a full regimen of soldiers in royal regalia standing to salute the approaching Narnians. Torches burned in hands of all shapes and sizes, and the cheers were many and warm-hearted as their monarchs led their ancestors home at last, following the Lion through the towering castle gates and melding into the assembly in the courtyard.

Though the temptation for a full-blown celebration was great, as it always was at the Cair, the Narnians understood from the dirt and the obvious weariness of the homecoming party that truly, rest was the order of the evening. There was a great rush to find enough beds or at least flat surfaces to allow the huge regimen of new arrivals a place to sleep, and the castle cooks immediately disappeared to begin food for the tired travelers. And slowly, but with no less gaiety, the crowd dissolved.

When she was halfway up the stairs to the tower in which she and her family slept, Lucy realized that she hadn't seen Aslan since he'd led them into the castle. Presumably, though, he'd gone off to wherever he went when he wasn't there, and she needn't worry about it. That tended to be how Aslan was. Sighing, she shrugged and opened the door to her washroom, curtseying politely to her lady in waiting (an odd quirk of Lucy's that often made servants blush) and letting herself slowly relax back into the end of an adventure.

* * *


End file.
